Slinky in convalescence

The rain made sounds like bullets hitting glass as I lay shaking on my bed, wrapped in multiple layers of cotton and feathers. The storm broke at the same time as the fever, and the pain mercifully stopped for a while.

Staggering around like a shot deer, I peer into the fridge but the idea of eating anything makes my guts churn. Wrapping myself in multiple layers again, I curled up in the sactuary of my bed and waited for the chills to stop again.

Needle. Blood test. Some yelling and flailing.

The fever has broken and crescendoed twice so far and I feel wrung out.

I knew having blue fingers wasn't normal.

Slinky, signing out, sick as a small dog that's been left in the rain.