Adhesive Virus

I don't know if there's such a locution as adhesive virus in the medical community, but there certainly is in our house these days. A few weeks ago it arrived in my body like the fog in Sandburg's poem, on little cat feet--a hint of sore throat, a hint of fever, a very noticeable diminution of my energy, which, thanks to my quarterly Lupron injections, has already diminished enough, thank you.

It lingered. I took naps instead of going to exercise in the afternoon. I seemed to be getting better. So on this most recent Monday past, Joyce and I went to see the production of The Winter's Tale (with Kenneth Branagh, Judi Dench, and Miranda Raison). They had technical issues at the Cinemark in nearby Macedonia, Ohio, where we'd gone to see it, streamed. It was supposed to start at 7:30 but didn't really get going until 8, and it was after 11 when we got home. I was exhausted.

Eleven doesn't seem late to younger folks (or to the healthier me), but these Lupron Days, I'm usually in bed between 6:30-7. I'll read for a bit; watched a British mystery series (or part of a movie) for a bit; I'm out by 9:30 (or earlier). So 11? Not good for me.

And Tuesday morning, Adhesive Virus was back--and this time with a disdainful sneer on his (her?) face--and a dire (!) message: You thought I was gone? Idiot! And now I'm going to stay around for a long time!

And so he has. I exercised only one day, early in the week, and the rest of my afternoons I've been up on the bed, tucked beneath a Pendleton blanket (nothing is more soporific--well, not counting some classes I had in school--and some I taught, too, most likely), sawing wood for all I'm worth.

I was hoping to recover well enough to join our son and family at Severance Hall last night for Messiah. So I took it easy all week (as I said), and yesterday I lay down about 2:30; a little after 5 Joyce woke me, said we needed to get going to meet them for dinner in Little Italy.

There was no way. I was absolutely wiped out, incapable of much of anything but tears.

I struggled out about 6:30 to have a tiny supper downstairs with Joyce, then was back in bed, where I slept soundly until about 6:30 this morning.

Today, I'm feeling marginally better, though I can still hear that grim, admonitory voice of Adhesive Virus whispering in my ear, Don't even think about trying to do anything today.

And I haven't really. A little walk to the coffee shop. A little reading and writing. But I know I will be unconscious most of the afternoon. Maybe if I stay that way long enough, Adhesive Virus will get bored and move on down the road?

One can hope ...