Jordan
Ridiculous or not, it’s happening. I’ll pick you up at 7.
Me
Listen, if you want to walk an extra thirteen blocks to me and then thirteen blocks back downtown to Lincoln Center, who am I to stop you?
Jordan
I’m glad we agree.
Me
If you’re picking me up, we’re getting tacos on the way.
Jordan
You got it. Heading into surgery. See you later, Jo Jo.
Me
Later, J. Can’t wait to get our dance on.
Jordan
Can’t wait to see your face. I’m indifferent, leaning towards full dread on the dancing.
Me
There’s my grumpy guy.
“Ms. Jo, can you help me with the puzzle?”
I look up from my phone and smile at the adorable redheaded girl missing her two front teeth. “For sure, Mia. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I set my phone on the table and stand from my chair at the edge of the museum’s activities room, but before I can follow Mia, I’m hit with a wave of dizziness. Leaning forward, I plant my hands on my knees and close my eyes, breathing through gritted teeth as nausea churns in my stomach and sweat beads on my forehead.
I felt off when I woke up this morning, but I figured it was mostly from not getting enough sleep when I was hanging with my sisters all weekend and then the late-night double feature Jordan and I had yesterday. We’re working our way through all my favorite disaster movies, and last night wasTwister, but you can’t watchTwisterwithout watching the absolutely impeccable sequelTwisters. By the time movie night was over, it was after two in the morning, and I had to be at work at eight for a meeting. So there was not much sleep to be had.
But I’ve been feeling progressively worse all day, and now, as I supervise a room full of first and second grade-aged kids as they dig for tiny dinosaur bones in bins of sand and try to fit the bones into the correct puzzle to form a full fossil, the dizziness just won’t quit. The shiver that wracks my body as sweat slicks down my back tells me I might be just a little bit sick.
But I can’t be sick because I have thirty kids in this room and a night of swing dancing planned, and being sick just doesn’t work with any of that. So, not sick. Definitely not sick.
It’s a mind over matter thing.
Two hours later, the kids are gone and I’m sitting at my desk, wrapped in a sweatshirt that saysGame of BonesI bought at the gift shop to stave off my full body chills, trying to keep my throbbing head upright as I attempt to proofread the program guide I’m creating for the museum’s new summer programs.
A cough wracks my body, and I reach into my desk drawer, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen I left here a few weeks ago when my period cramps were inferno level bad. I shake three out of the bottle, swallowing them down with the Dr. Pepper sitting on my desk, making a face when I realize it’s from early this morning and is now totally flat. Really adding insult to injury today.
My entire body aches, and I just want to lay my head down on my desk for five damn minutes to let the medicine kick in, but I promised Monica a draft of this program guide today and I have five more pages to proofread, so my pounding head is just going to have to get on board.
I cough pathetically and then sniffle because my sinuses have evidently now decided to join the party. I groan and bury my face in my hands. I hate being sick. I never get sick.
I am absolutely not sick. I have way too much to do and way too many plans to be sick, and that’s all there is to it.
“You okay, Jo?”
I whip my head up at the sound of Monica’s voice and wince at the throb of pain.
