I awoke at four in the morning in agony. It was as if Rebecca had finally snapped and shanked me in my sleep. Also, Rigors. RIGORS RIGORS RIGORS (Rye-gorrrrs), It's like burning to death and freezing to death at the same time. By this time I was pretty sure that I'd caught a dose of H1N1 and was fretting that my pregnant wife was gonna get the swine, I was acutally quite reassured by the whole thing, swine flu is not that big of a deal, some water and rest with some panadol and I'll be fine. By seven am things had gotten worse. A back and forth with Rebecca regarding a Dr's appointment (At this point Rebecca's call was "man flu") was settled by a spectacular display of vomiting and then immediately coughing up blood. It was my finest moment in a "I told you I was sick" kinda way. My GP. Who's stone cold excellent immediately called "Pneumonia" on my ass (lungs) and it was off to hospital for a feverish 24 hours of "Stat" fluids and IV antibiotics. man, what a drag.
Long story short. It was shit house. Stay the fuck away from pneumonia, kids. Seriously. Give it a wide berth. Now, as of a week later, I'm all anxious to get back on the bike, however worried that I don't wish to push my luck too soon. Monday I reckon, and I'll be back at it. For now? just sitting around.
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