March 18, 2011

White Dog sat next to me and sniffed my eyeballs. "Well," she said, "it has been 18 hours; are you all better?" I struggled to raise my pounding head and a wave of nausea swept over me. I looked at my little white nursemaid and the three other pairs of black rimmed eyes staring up from my feet...the rest of my wellness team.

I must be on a different clock from Steve because I don't even feel the slightest bit better and spent most of the day in sleep delirium punctuated by instant wakefulness as I ran to the loo. The White Dogs were with me every second, laying next to me or at my side on on top of me. And when Steve came home, he joined them.

The idea of food is an alien one and my body is achy and indecisive about its temperature. The pups (and Steve) keep trying to help somehow, but there is nothing they can do but love me...which they do fiercely and strongly. I can feel their healing energy and positivity. I know this bug will run its course soon (or at least I hope since my traditional birthday feast is Sunday).

Thank goodness, WD and the others don't mind my moaning and forgive my shortness as I try to unload them off of the bed, toss the covers aside, and wade through my posse in time to answer nature's violent call.