I am alive though well would be a stretch. Last night won’t go down in the annals as one of my better. I woke up at 2:30 unable to catch my breath. I was about to hop into my car to go to the emergency room when the coughing slowed down. I returned to bed, propped up with pillows behind me and finally fall asleep. This morning I found my inhaler and that has made a world of difference. I have to chuckle though as my table looks like the side table of some old lady’s bedroom filled as it is with bottles, kleenex boxes and used kleenex. I should be wearing a quilted bed jacket and a lacy cap.

I just woke up from a nap, a three-hour nap. Now I’m singing the theme from Gilligan. Yikes, I’m sicker than I thought.

All my body functions and parts are failing in tandem. First was my eye-hand coordination. Last night I tipped over a full glass of sticky orange juice on my table which is filled with books. Though I cleaned it up, my fingers still stick in places I missed. When I get up, I feel a bit dizzy and do pirouettes, ungracefully I might add. I am getting quite tired of blowing my nose.

My mother was the best when I was sick. I’d lie in bed and she’d bring something to nosh like juice and crackers, sometimes Saltines or Pilot Crackers, spread with butter. Lunch was usually soup and maybe a half sandwich: tomato soup and grilled cheese was the favorite of the sick room crowd. Dunking the sandwich into the soup was rather tasty.

I loved the attention from my mother. Every other day I had to share her but not when I was sick. Sometimes being sick, but not all that sick, was worth it.

My friend Clare brought me whoopie pies and apple cider donuts yesterday. She left them on the steps put off by the quarantine signs in the windows.