I guess first, a big apology to my readers (if I still have any,) for my absence. Since Labor Day, I have been terribly ill, ultimately landing me in the hospital for a scary five night stay. Flu-like symptoms started this fiasco, then a diagnosis of bronchitis, then an allergic reaction, and finally, the real culprit, pneumonia (from which, I had developed the allergic reaction known as Steven's-Johnson Syndrome.) If you haven't heard of it, look it up, it's brutal.
While in the hospital, it was easy for me to get down and think of all the fun things I was missing, Fashion's Night Out, a wedding, two concerts, drinks with friends, indian summer, food, etc. It wasn't until after I was released, riding home in the cab with my wonderful mother who came up to help out, that I started to have this overwhelming feeling that has stuck with me over the past few days. It keeps creeping in at inopportune moments and I have to have a little cry (a good cry though.) That feeling is thankfulness. Thankfulness that we caught this when we did. If I hadn't started treatment right away, there's no telling how long I would have had to stay there. Five nights and six days was long enough! Thankful for KTW, who provided tremendous support, many forehead kisses and didn't look away from me when my lips were completely swollen, eyes pink and I was feeling like I looked like a monster. Thankful for the staff at Lenox Hill who took great care of me, I felt completely safe in their care. Thankful for my visitors, flowers, and cards that perked me up each day. Thankful for my health, this might sound strange considering I was sick. But had my body been a little older or not in good condition, this would certainly have knocked me out for longer. And finally, most thankful for my mother. She treated me as if I was 4yrs old this past week and I loved every minute of it. I know the multiple drugs I'm on and copious amount of rest I've acquired have gotten me back to shape. But having my mother here provided me with a different sense of health, physically and mentally. She carried my purse when I was too weak to walk the stairs up to my apartment. She fetched me 400 glasses of water and fed me banana pudding, chocolate pudding, strawberry jello, and the yummiest, softest pancakes when I started to chew again. We played countless hours of gin and Scrabble to take my mind of the pain. And when I started to feel sorry for myself, she changed the subject and I could almost forget how sick I was.
Throughout the week, I'll be posting pictures of the past three weeks to catch up. For today, I'll leave you with this image. Definitely my best meal at the hospital and the day I ate the most. French onion soup from
Orsay that my mom smuggled in. Told you she was good...
