I have been borderline, crossed the border, back over to borderline on and off all day meningitis-y. I finally figured out (maybe again) how to describe it to an "outsider". I look kinda high...or drunk...
I feel kinda high...or drunk.
I can't stand up straight. I can't sit up straight. I have difficulty holding my eyes open past half-shut.
I slur when I speak.
I was singing while washing my hair this evening...and that was when it hit me...that I sounded drunk. I do.
I have difficulty focusing my eyes.
I hear slow. Or maybe I should say that it takes extra time to process what I am hearing.
I move slower than usual.
At dinner, in order to keep my face out of my soup, I had to prop myself up on my elbows.
I would probably go into a giggling fit if something funny enough passed before me. One of those that leave me helpless and red in the face, unable to breathe. (Called "giggle gas" amongst our family.)
My thoughts are muddled. If I'm thinking at all. I can just sit here and be as blank as a clean slate if I don't force myself to be somewhat more alert. Not kidding. That's some serious "dead-brain".
Now...take that and imagine me trying to be of assistance to my grandparents. That's one of those "force yourself to be slightly mentally active" times.
Grandpa apparently got up at 5 or thereabouts this morning. (He put himself to bed last night, for which I am grateful.) Grandma didn't get up until after noon. In the meantime, Grandpa had not eaten anything. He was complaining of his neck hurting and feeling to weak to hold up his head. He was literately holding it up with is hands. He was really pale and had terrible low blood pressure. Then I found out he hadn't had anything to eat since supper last night.
Grandma fixed him some eggs and I sat there for nigh on two hours...essentially force feeding him. He said he had "had enough" after half a dozen bites, but I kept demanding him to open his mouth and he did eventually get it all down. All the eggs...and a little over half the bread. I got him to eat all the eggs by telling him I wasn't going to make him eat all the bread (but I was slipping some onto the spoon with the eggs each bite). He did have a big cup of cocoa and half a mug of orange juice. By the time that force feed was over, his color had been restored to normal and I think he was feeling a little stronger.
It's a hard thing to sit there and demand of your 92 year old grandfather, a man who has always eaten, to "Open your mouth. Grandpa. Open your mouth."
By the time I got him fed (Savannah was in and out and helping hold up his head and rubbing the knot in his neck), I was so hungry myself that I had to come in and get something to eat before I could take my next set of killers.
We went back out later and he was in his recliner...but was needing to get up and go to the bathroom. Well...to shorten the story, we had what is known as a "crime scene" amongst elder-care persons...Grandma primarily took care of that, but I assisted in what ways I could without getting in the way. Grandpa decided to stay in bed at that stage of the game and there is where I left him. I hope he sat up to eat...Grandma was making shrimp. Between "breakfast/lunch" he had an ice cream bar. He is NOT getting enough to eat...and he doesn't want to eat. It's not even like Grandma isn't feeding him either...
I think protein shake is called for. However, I'm about wrote out...so I'm going to weave myself off to the big recliner in the living room.
Now...how sane was all of that? *blinks trying to focus eyes* Nevermind...