That would be me.
I was two steps away from death yesterday morning, at least that’s how I felt.
I awoke in and out of cold sweats and hot fevers, needles of fever pains jabbing randomly at corners of my feet or unsuspecting parts of my hands, lungs that felt like they were being pressed from the inside out by a blazing hot griddle, a rattling cough from the depths of those burning lungs, a scratchy, sore throat and meat hooks that were useless (as were the rest of my muscles).
I had cancelled my classes the day before, suspecting there may not be any improvement to my condition from the previous 2 days. I couldn’t even make it to the edge of the bed, let alone to the barn and back to milk. I couldn’t speak at more than a whisper, so teaching two whole classes would have been less than successful. I slept for most of the day. The Animal Whisperer took exceptional care of the kids, the goats and the daily farm life while I wasted away in bed. It was mostly a horrible experience.
Except for one thing:
The day was 67 degrees, so I opened our bedroom window a crack and got to feel the cool breeze blow over me all day long. The lace curtains left to us by the previous owner, which most of the time I strongly dislike, looked beautiful billowing in the breeze, like something out of a sick room movie.
Anyway, I’m back. From the dead. From the depths of my four blankets piled thickly on top of me. From the fog that was my mind (not that it changes much when I’m well). From being on the brink of self-induced hospitalization. From an out-of-body experience. From subjecting the Animal Whisperer to milking Lilac.
– The Goat Cheese Lady
P.S. And, I need a new book to read. Any suggestions along the lines of Omnivore’s Dilemma or Animal, Vegetable, Miracle?