Something Is Wrong
Oh, it’s going to be one of THOSE kind of runs today I remember thinking as I was slogging through mile two of a planned eight mile run. The kind of run where my legs felt like cement blocks making it feel as if I were running through quicksand. I pushed through the remaining six miles, determined to get in a full workout before embarking on a day in the car.
Long car trips were becoming increasingly difficult for me in 2010. In fact, sitting still for any period of time was uncomfortable, my body often felt restless, and a feeling of anxiety rising if I couldn’t get up and move. But on that particular day, Marc, the boys and I were headed to Central Oregon for our annual neighborhood weekend to Sunriver resort. It was worth the four-hour drive.
I loved our Sunriver trips that included several families from our neighborhood, all with kids around the same age. Every year I looked forwards to our lively happy hours, sipping cocktails and sharing gossip while our kids climbed trees and played hide and seek amongst giant boulders. I enjoyed taking the kids on bike rides through the resort to the local bakery followed by big kickball games, sometimes in the snow. Good times filled with laughter and fun so I was pissed when I went to bed that first night after dinner feeling achy and chilled. Crap, I never get sick, why now! Not to mention I had an early morning run planned the next day. Running in central Oregon was one of my absolute favorite things to do. A runner’s paradise with its fresh clean air, and tree lined pathways that hugged the rambling Deschutes river. After a poor night’s sleep, I woke the next morning, and went down for breakfast determined not to miss my run, or the big group bike ride to the waterfalls planned for later that day. But with my head spinning and my skin clammy I had no choice but to crawl back up the stairs to bed where I floated in and out of a hazy sleep, waking only when the kids would pop in to bring me homemade get well cards and fill me in on the day’s activities.
“Marc something is really wrong,” I said to him when he returned later that night from the evening’s festivities, “I’m freezing and I cannot catch my breath.”
“Just take a hot bath and we will see how you feel in the morning,” Marc replied tiredly, it was late and it sounded like I missed quite a party.
I laid awake, shivering, lethargic and disoriented for several hours until I saw daylight peek through the crack in the drapes, and then insisted on going to the emergency room.
“I can’t imagine it’s something too serious,” I said to the ER doctor as, after what seemed like hours and too many tests later, he arrived in the exam room with a sympathetic look on his face. I was suddenly feeling foolish for creating so much drama over what was probably a reaction to something funky I ate.
“Well Sherri, you have double pneumonia, and you are anemic and dehydrated,” he said to me concerned, “and based on your anorexic condition, had you waited much longer to come in, well, we would not be talking now. Do you understand?”
Anorexic condition? Me? I was certain he must have had the wrong patient.