Because im the type of person who likes to regale people with gross/gory/boring details of my health problems, I feel compelled to talk about the 38.6 deg C fever that struck me suddenly last night. It was accompanied by a severe loss of appetite. The horror (of the loss of appetite, that is).
Lying in bed with two blankets wrapped around me (fever makes me cold, ironically), these thoughts ran through my mind (listed in order of priority):
1. I am going to Melaka on Saturday and had planned to eat, eat, eat, go out and throw up, then come back and eat somemore. Can I still do that?
2. How about chendol? Can I still eat chendol?
3. What other food will I be missing out on?
4. Will I be dead by tomorrow?
When the Resident Bureaucrat came home, he was not at all concerned that I might be facing imminent death, and spent his night reading his newspapers as usual, like his wife died every other day.
When I moaned out to him my latest temperature reading (I took it every 10 minutes), he said: "If you're going to be on MC tomorrow, can you please pack your clothes for the Melaka trip during the day?"
"Do you think it might be dengue?" I asked him, ignoring his instructions to pack.
"Won't be dengue one lah."
"But I've got seriously high fever. I'm dying."
I went to the doctor this morning, who exclaimed that a temperature of 38.6 was "very high". Well, it's good that someone is showing me some sympathy.
However, right now, I'm glad to report that I think I may not die after all because my fever has come down. But let's hope my appetite comes back soon. Melaka, here I comeeee!!!!!