Someone call the CDC

I think I'm dying of Bubonic Plague.

This week has seen it's ups and downs, and my relapse into illness (and seemingly certain death) has been the anti-highlight.

I called Tantie this morning to gripe. As soon as she heard my shivery raspy voice, she demanded I call Husband at once to take me to the doctor.

"You could have pneumonia, or worse!" she worried.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's Ebola," I teased. My joints and kidneys ache, my face is throbbing, and I'm shaking violently from fever. This little cold is seriously kicking my ass.

I summoned Husband home from important meetings and such to take me to the Urgent Care clinic. He made sure to remind me just how inconvenient all this was. "Shall I cough on you now?" I threatened. There was no more backtalk after that.

Of course, my diagnosis was merely a bad cold with possible sinusitis. "Plenty of rest and fluids," Doctor recited. I left with a scrip for nasal spray. Satisfied that the love of his life was in fact not dying from tuberculosis, Husband headed back to work.

Darn it. I should have milked it a little more.