Thursday, August 16, 2007
VIRUS FROM OUTER SPACE
A terrible cloud of illness has hung over our house for around a month and a half now.
When Geoff announced that he had got a sore throat, I ignored him. This is a man who complains that he *thinks* he's in the early stages of a cold on at least a weekly basis.
However, this time he actually became ill, and developed a fever and chesty cough.
The sort of chesty cough that tended to keep him awake at night.
... or, more importantly, kept waking ME up at night.
"HEUGH, HEUGH, HEUGH" would wake me up at midnight. I would go back to sleep.
"HEUGH, HEUGH, HEUGH" would wake me up at one o'clock. I would go back to sleep.
"HEUGH, HEUGH, HEUEUEUGH HEUGH" would wake me up at one thirty.
That was it. I couldn't get back to sleep and would have to get up and read for a couple of hours.
This carried on for a week and a half until, amazingly, Geoff admitted that he was feeling better. Never one not to wallow in illness, it takes a lot for him to confess that he's on the mend.
That night, I woke up with a raging sore throat. This was about the tenth sleepless night in a row.
The next night I developed a cough - a dryer cough, or, as it is known to professionals, a Len Murray cough.
While my parents watched interminable footage of TUC Conferences in the 1970's, I wasn't paying attention to what was going on during the speeches: only to the TUC's saturnine General Secretary Len Murray and his persistent, annoying dry cough.
"Hem hem. Hem HEM Hem." That's all I remember of Len Murray's contribution to the disruptive 1970's trades union action.
It doesn't surprise me to find out that he died because of complications from emphysema and pneumonia.
... so I had now fallen victim to the 'lurgy, and was hem hemming my way through another few sleepless nights. Even the Venos cough mixture, with the picture on the packaging of the lantern jawed woman, apparently in a state of heightened sexual enjoyment, couldn't help me sleep.
I'm someone who always bounces back from colds after a couple of days, so the week or so of coughing and squeaky voiced-ness must prove how debilitating this bug was. Still, at last I recovered ...
... only for Geoff to find out that his germs had gone away, re-grouped and had decided to once more tear the roof off the motherfucker (as we used to say in the 1970's).
At one o'clock in the morning for the past week ... HEUGH HEUGH.
Two o'clock ... HEUGH HEUGH.
Two thirty ... HEUGH HEUEUEUGH HEUGH.
I am currently reading Simon Reynold's Rip It Up And Start Again until the sun rises, as well as suffering from sleep-deprived hallucinations.
When Geoff announced that he had got a sore throat, I ignored him. This is a man who complains that he *thinks* he's in the early stages of a cold on at least a weekly basis.
However, this time he actually became ill, and developed a fever and chesty cough.
The sort of chesty cough that tended to keep him awake at night.
... or, more importantly, kept waking ME up at night.
"HEUGH, HEUGH, HEUGH" would wake me up at midnight. I would go back to sleep.
"HEUGH, HEUGH, HEUGH" would wake me up at one o'clock. I would go back to sleep.
"HEUGH, HEUGH, HEUEUEUGH HEUGH" would wake me up at one thirty.
That was it. I couldn't get back to sleep and would have to get up and read for a couple of hours.
This carried on for a week and a half until, amazingly, Geoff admitted that he was feeling better. Never one not to wallow in illness, it takes a lot for him to confess that he's on the mend.
That night, I woke up with a raging sore throat. This was about the tenth sleepless night in a row.
The next night I developed a cough - a dryer cough, or, as it is known to professionals, a Len Murray cough.
While my parents watched interminable footage of TUC Conferences in the 1970's, I wasn't paying attention to what was going on during the speeches: only to the TUC's saturnine General Secretary Len Murray and his persistent, annoying dry cough.
"Hem hem. Hem HEM Hem." That's all I remember of Len Murray's contribution to the disruptive 1970's trades union action.
It doesn't surprise me to find out that he died because of complications from emphysema and pneumonia.
... so I had now fallen victim to the 'lurgy, and was hem hemming my way through another few sleepless nights. Even the Venos cough mixture, with the picture on the packaging of the lantern jawed woman, apparently in a state of heightened sexual enjoyment, couldn't help me sleep.
I'm someone who always bounces back from colds after a couple of days, so the week or so of coughing and squeaky voiced-ness must prove how debilitating this bug was. Still, at last I recovered ...
... only for Geoff to find out that his germs had gone away, re-grouped and had decided to once more tear the roof off the motherfucker (as we used to say in the 1970's).
At one o'clock in the morning for the past week ... HEUGH HEUGH.
Two o'clock ... HEUGH HEUGH.
Two thirty ... HEUGH HEUEUEUGH HEUGH.
I am currently reading Simon Reynold's Rip It Up And Start Again until the sun rises, as well as suffering from sleep-deprived hallucinations.
Labels: debilitating illness, hypochondria, Len Murray, productive coughs
