So I woke up this morning to hear the first alarm of the morning chime ... and immediately realized that I hadn't swallowed in over six hours. My throat felt like it had been lined with #30 sandpaper. I got up, used the bathroom, and tried to carefully sip a glass of water. This worked about as well as attempting to drink sulfuric acid. I gave up and walked back to the bedroom with tears rolling down my cheeks and the front of my t-shirt covered in the water which dribbled out of my dry, dry mouth.
I tried using the lidocaine solution they prescribed ... and I could successfully drink a glass of water. I decided work was out of the question, so I dozed for awhile until I could get in touch with my boss and call in. He didn't seem overly pleased ... but since I was contagious and it still felt as though I'd gargled with ground glass I didn't see an alternative.
By ten o'clock I was genuinely hungry. So I had the brilliant idea to bake a Tombstone pizza. Don't judge me ... classic sausage is one of my favorite guilty pleasures. I hadn't had anything to eat in 24 hours ... so you can't blame me for fantasizing about melty cheese.
As a fantasy? It was heaven. In reality? I had to swallow the lidocaine solution just to be able to eat ... and, with my mouth and tongue and throat completely numb, I was basically eating jagged pieces of hard, tasteless cardboard.
I slept off and on all day. And I think I feel better? It no longer feels like knives in my throat ... it's painful ... but better. I want bacon ... so that has to mean I'm better! Tomorrow night I have a dinner party to go to ... so fingers crossed. I've missed our friends and I can't wait to spend an evening with them. Time to drink more orange juice ...
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