So, this is how it ends. I thought to myself as I looked at the dusty canopy top of the bed and the white ceiling peeping from between.
This is how they'll find me - dead - stuck like a turtle in the middle of a king-sized bed. No escape in sight. No wiggle room. And an overweight Himalayan poking my arm with her overly slimy nose. No one should have to go like this. No one.
I tried to roll over again by grabbing the sheets with my left hand and pulling my self over to the side. I figured I was rotund enough to roll to an upright position, instead, the sharp, invisible knife struck my ribs again and I halted my escape plan.
"Phoebe? Can you call 911 for mommy and tell them that I'm stuck in bed and to bring help. And dinner?" I looked over at her. She blinked, purred louder and snorted. I'm taking that as a "no."
I lay there for another thirty minutes with the television stuck on the fake boobies of Sandra Lee on FoodNetwork.
This is hell. I thought to myself and waited for the tv to continue its torture by next showing scenes from "Mayberry" and then any reality show (they're all quite sucky in my opinion).
Finally, I manage to gather the strength I've reserved and launch myself, Tomb Raider-ish from the bed to the wall near my closet. It hurt like a bitch - but I was free to hobble around now.
And then I sneezed.
And then I cried.
And then I called my doctor.