The wrong kind of transference.

ebola_or_flu

Last Monday, when I saw my therapist, he told me he had a cold.  It seemed pretty bad too, because he kept coughing and sneezing and blowing his nose.    I didn’t think too much of this, and since I rarely get sick anymore (since I stopped my monthly cycle, my frequent colds also stopped, go figure!)  it didn’t occur to me I might be out of commission for a few days.  But the rare times I do get sick, I get really sick!

Well, lo and behold, come Thursday, I woke up with a  tickle in the back of my throat and felt slightly feverish.   I felt like calling in sick to work, but I didn’t because I can’t afford to.  I stopped at the grocery store and stocked up on some store-brand Day Quil, NyQuil,  and Robitussin for the inevitable cough that would come later.    I slogged through my day, feeling slightly groggy, but otherwise not too bad.   I saw my therapist again that night.

“Guess what.  I got your cold,” I said.   I knew he was the culprit, because no one else I know has a cold.  He spent the next five minutes apologizing.    He offered me the box of tissues that sit on the end table for his crying clients (so I haven’t needed them yet).  He actually looked worried about me!  I swear he’s the sweetest person I ever met  (why couldn’t I have married someone like him?)    I assured him I wasn’t mad at him or upset in any way and it wasn’t that bad anyway.

I spoke too soon because Friday I was worse, and so sleepy from both the virus and the medication I could do practically nothing but sleep after I made it home from  work.  How I managed to get through THAT day I don’t know.   I was too groggy and sick to even want to spend much time blogging.  I felt retarded.  My thoughts oozed slowly like January molasses.     I slept for about 14 hours straight.

Today was much the same only worse.  My cold has become the Martian Death Flu.   I was achy and I felt hot so I took my temperature and it was 103.   My cough was cruel and relentless. I sounded like a barking seal.    My nose felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls.  I’ve  already been through probably an entire box of tissues.   The weather was pretty but I spent all of today curled up in my bed, sleeping and reading a little bit in between fever dreams I can’t remember. I know I won’t die, but I sure don’t feel too alive.

I think this disease peaked earlier today, because now I’m beginning to feel a little better. I actually ate some dinner and now I’m drinking some coffee.  The cough has subsided somewhat and my temperature is down to almost normal.  I feel like tomorrow I might be able to join the living again.

Transference is a great thing, but this was the wrong kind!   Next time he gets sick, he should warn me in advance so I can get one of those space suits like those researchers who work with the Ebola virus.

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About luckyotter

Recovering from BPD and C-PTSD due to narcissistic abuse from childhood. Married to a sociopath for 20 years. Proud INFJ, Enneagram type 4w5. Animal lover, music lover, cat mom, unapologetic geek, fan of the absurd, progressive Catholic, mom to 2, mental illness stigma activist, anti-Trumper. #RESISTANCE
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8 Responses to The wrong kind of transference.

  1. Diana says:

    So glad you are feeling a little better! Seriously, I don’t know how in the world you worked those days so sick……

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Ritu says:

    Glad you’re on the mend!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I can tell by your awesome writing that you are better. Yay you for managing to work even while sick!

    Liked by 1 person

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