Dark Night

Strep

Grandpa came in once to give me a pill, but other than that, I slept.

When I woke up again, It was past one in the morning and the condo was silent. I got up and went to the bathroom, then padded out to the kitchen where I liberated a bottle of ginger ale from the fridge and took a dinner roll, buttering it and putting it on a paper towel before going back to my room. I closed the door behind me and turned on the lamp that clipped on to the headboard of the bed, using the new thermometer with the disposable sleeves as I checked my phone. I had a fever still, but not too bad. I ate and sipped my ginger ale while reading my friends' texts that they were sorry I was sick, and John had also texted the class assignments for pre-calc and earth sciences.

I was kind of enjoying the peace and quiet and the active absence of people who were upset with me, so I got the earth sciences text from my bag and started to read, sipping my ginger ale.  I started to feel tired again, so after finishing the reading, I also finished the soda and turned out the light.

Next time I woke up, Grandpa was tapping on my door and came in when I raised my head and squinted at him. I usually sleep on my side, and it felt like all the concrete in my sinuses had consolidated into one side. Good that I could at least breathe through one nostril, bad because capacity of that other sinus felt like it had been greatly exceeded. "Good morning, punkin," he said, and Mom leaned on the doorframe. "Open." He stuck the thermometer under my tongue. "Still a little over a hundred. How do you feel?'

"Kind of cruddy still," I admitted, sitting up, "but more rested."

"Good, punkin. You need to catch up on your sleep." He raised an eyebrow at the textbook by my bed.

"John texted my assignments so I did a little reading when I got up once last night. Keeping hydrated." I pointed to the empty bottle of ginger ale.

"Good. Well, I'm going to be in and out today. I'm going to go to the store to get the fixings for more soup, and I've got a realtor's appointment this morning. Here's your medicine." I nodded as he gave me the pill vial.

"I set the alarm on my phone just in case I'm asleep." He nodded and patted my hair, taking the water carafe to refill it.  Mom came forward, and I braced for incoming.

"Be sure to take the medicine on time, Delia," she said, reading the label. "And eat something with it."

"I read the labels yesterday," I said, a little testily. "I can figure out a simple dosing schedule."

"I'm trying, Delia," she snapped.

"Try harder," I invited. "What would you say if it was your precious son?" Her eyebrows drew together hard as she inhaled sharply, then she relaxed a bit and the aggression drained.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Delia. I'll try to do better." I wonder how much pride it had cost her to say that. "How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get for you?"

"I still feel cruddy, but not as tired." I recapped my comments to Grandpa with a fair degree of patience. She flushed a little though.

"Call if you need me to bring anything home tonight," she said, and brushed my hair gently. I almost started away. She hadn't done that since I was eleven. "I hope you feel better." And she left to go to work.

Grandpa came in with the water and some steel-cut oatmeal with apples sauteed in butter and cinnamon while I was crouched by my backpack. I came up with the little bottle of aspirin and got back into bed. "The doctor said that because I don't have any risk factors for diabetes--I'm active, not obese, and there's no family history--and given that I hadn't eaten since the day before and I'd had too much aspirin, gym glass just pushed me over the edge. He said it's ok for me to take a small dose, and my head is killing me." It had started pounding when I sat up.