My husband takes football so seriously. I felt so sad for him last night as the game went into overtime and his hopes of the Falcons winning were dashed. He'd watched the game so intently, commenting on every play and making sure I understood every call and things like 2 point conversions. He wanted me to get the full experience and get into it as much as he did, but I couldn't. I was sick. I'd been sick for the past several days with a sore throat, muscle aches, and fever. When you don't feel well, it's hard to cheer and get excited over a sporting event, but I tried. I even made him a bunch of junk food to help him feel like we were having a little party. I gave it my best shot but really, I was just thankful to sit in the recliner covered up with my big, furry blanket and close my eyes.
To be honest, I'm so tired of feeling tired. I just want to have a few days of feeling really good. Is that too much to ask? I'm sure my white blood cells are still low and that's why my immunity isn't up to par. In a few weeks, I'll have blood work done again and hope the oncologist can come up with some solutions to help me feel a lot better.
The Cymbalta is helping a lot with the all over body pain and I'm grateful for that. I've been on it for almost three weeks now. I do find it makes me extremely sleepy at certain times of the day and that's bothersome, but other than that, it's doing a good job for me.
Okay, enough complaining for today! I don't mean to sound like I'm whining all the time, but I have been feeling pretty raunchy lately. Perhaps when Spring arrives, I won't have much to complain about and I'll be feeling much, much better! That's my hope, anyway.
I'll leave you with a beautiful quotation about Spring because I love profound quotations and hope you do, too -
“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.” ~ Ernest Hemingway from a Moveable Feast