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Too darn hot

Yesterday and today I've had a low fever — never higher than 99.6º, but high enough to make me feel flushed, sluggish, and worried. I don't feel ill in any way, which worries me more.

Because I am, well, me, I have been oscillating between two absolute certainties:

  1. This is good. The embryos have implanted and my metabolism is just humming along, building up a thick and comfy uterine lining not entirely unlike an L.L. Bean flannel-lined sleeping bag rated for temperatures down to -20º. (I believe in very specific visualization.)

  2. Shit howdy, is this really bad. My immune system is enraged by the intrusion and is smoking the little bastards out. Sherman's marching through Atlanta, and, boy, is he pissed. The Earth is hurtling straight for the sun and we're all gonna die in a great cosmic barbecue, embryos first.

I have called the nurse and left a message. A month from now I'd be able to fling myself nude into a convenient snowbank to cool my fever-blotched skin, but for now the best I can do is pound the Tylenol and hang on to hope.