frowned upon

The dating gods are frowning upon me.  I was meant to have my second date with S on Thursday (drinks then dinner at one of my favourite Greek places in London) but I was Struck Down with what I thought was a heavy cold.  S, who seems so far to be rather a nice man, obligingly agreed to shift our plans to Saturday night (drinks then dinner at one of his favourite French places in London).

However, it soon became clear that a fever of 40 degrees (Celcius, American readers), chest pain, shortness of breath, the inability to swallow more than the teeniest sips of warm tea, tremendous ear-ache and the inability to breath unless sitting bolt upright indicated something more than a cold.  On Friday night I sent a text to apologise profusely and then sank back exhausted on my bank of 7 pillows, thinking I would probably never hear from him again.  At this point you are probably wondering why I didn't go and see my GP.  Well, I had a very good reason - I had completely, but completely, lost my voice and couldn't phone to make an appointment.

By Sunday I had regained enough of a croak to call the emergency doctor who, after a couple of questions, suggested somewhat forcefully that I pack myself into a cab and present myself at the emergency clinic immediately.  I did so, he diagnosed a good going chest infection, loaded me up with antibiotics and sent me home.  I called my mummy, she came over with chicken soup and a light in her eye as she saw this as a chance to clean out my kitchen cupboards and arrange them as she thinks best and I was too weak to protest. (I looked at them this morning in awe, they sparkle and I think are organised alphabetically.  I'll protest later as a matter of form, of course, but they really do sparkle).

Yesterday I had to go to my usual GP for a certificate for work.  It is a long, uphill climb and by the time I got there all I wanted to do was lie down in the car park and quietly expire.  My GP, on hearing that I couldn't hear on my right side, peered into ears.  "That's quite the infection you have there" she said, moving tactfully to my left.  "Good job you're already on amoxycillin.  Go home and stay there until Friday when I want to see you again to decide whether you can go back to work on Monday."  I croaked my thanks and crawled back down the hill and into my bed.  And here I stay, coughing up bits of lung and feeling very meh.  Even my darling little cat has had enough of me and has abandoned me, prefering to gibber at birds from the safety of the sun-warmed balcony.

As for S, he says we can re-arrange when I am better but I think I detect a certain cooling of enthusiasm on his part.  We shall see...