More bed than being up and about on Saturday, but at least the nausea's stopped.
No appetite either. Eating and drinking are tentative all day, mostly bread and apple sauce and Tazo orange spice herbal tea and seltzer and a little bit of pureed Lexington Co-op chicken soup (no chunks that way, just in case).
The worst, though, is the total lack of energy. No, wait, the worst on Saturday is the dull muscle pain, especially in the chest and arms, that shows up after the first of the afternoon naps. Look it up on the computer and conclude that it's probably myalgia, not myocardial.
Hello again, extra strength Tylenol.
Finally, after shooing away a succession of would-be snow-shovelers from the front door, I plop in front of the big flat-screen TV in the living room and fire up the stuff that looks best on it -- sports -- first Bill Murray scuffing a drive off the tee in the celebrity round at Pebble Beach, then the basketball game between #4 Duke and my alma mater -- unranked Syracuse, a happy game for the Orangemen until the second half comes along. I start dozing.
Even a third nap in the evening does not put a dent in the fatigue. Watching an ancient Saturday Night Live rebroadcast (George Carlin hosting -- 1975) on the kitchen TV while waiting for another pill-taking moment at midnight, I drift off in the chair and suddenly it's almost 1 a.m. Monica's gone to bed, having already called a taxi to get to the airport for a business flight to Florida in the morning. Fortunately for both of us, it's a flight that gets scrubbed by the weather.
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