This is not funny at all. In fact, I’m walking myself back from yet another panic attack flare up as I write this. My husband had stomach upset and sneezing fits today. While we’ve talked about how we would be careful in general, at length, this year. I don’t think either of us broached the topic of if one of us actually became ill. Failure on my part there.
So I made him comfortable back in his room. Nyquil, a small pumpkin, juice and cough drops. But my head. If I lost him. Damn. I know, disaster thinking rears it’s ugly head again. But yeah, I fucking hate this year. Which is the opposite of how I feel about time, no matter how tough things are. It’s what the heart attack left me with. Sudden possibility of death at any given moment so I treasure all moments. Even this one I suppose.
Music and French Rose to the rescue then curling up in bed with the 1000+ page book on American History that has intimidated me so far this year.