How to survive being confined to the couch

I am currently on day 8 of being inside. Day 8. Day freaking 8. Okay, that's a lie. One day when Nazi Nurse (aka my husband) was at the corner shop I took out the recycling. It was thrilling... the possibility of a pigeon sighting, the smell of our neighbours 18 million garbage bags and the overgrown nature of our garden were already more exciting that our couch. That was on day 4.

This is how I have filled my time and *attempted* to not loose the plot completely.

1. Online shopping. So so so much online shopping. I now recognise the drivers for the delivery companies...I'm convinced they think I only own mismatched pjs, no proper clothes or a hair brush.  I have gotten things delivered that no one ever needs to get delivered. 99p shoe horns. Batteries. Light bulbs. Basically anything that let me feel like I was accomplishing something without actually leaving the house....and of course it has to have free shipping!

2. Taking daily update photos of your rash/blisters/scabs and whatsapping them to anyone who has shown the slightest concern for your wellbeing. I blame my father for my love of disgusting things such as scabs and popping zits/blisters. The incredibly insanely amazingly awesome display my body put on over the past week and a half has been intriguing (and horribly painful) to say the least. My family have been photographically updated as to the state of my body at least daily. How lucky for them!

3. Obsessing over things that do NOT need to obsessed over. For example I am going on my honeymoon to Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam at the end of the month. The amount of research I have put into finding THE perfect sandals may have been sllllllllllllightly overboard. I may have convinced myself that our beach and eating holiday is actually going to consist of trekking across the jungle, climbing trees with Tarzan. There is a 0% change of us doing anything beyond a short hike. My 'zeal' for my purchases was shown to me when Andrew had tears of laughter rolling down his face while I explained the features of my new all rubber sandals, explaining that "they are rated as the best walking sandal during the rainy season in Thailand". Slightly. Overboard. 

4. Jigsaw puzzles. Andrew lovingly bought me a puzzle to fill my time. I spent hours doing the edge and starting to fill in what I could of the centre. He then spent all day Saturday, Saturday evening and then Sunday morning completing it. Lesson learned...add doing puzzles together to the list of things that we need to improve on. Along with how to share the duvet and the last piece of dessert. 

5. Trying to fix things. Trying is the operative word here. Yesterday Andrew had come home to find that I had effectively stretched my "perfect" new walking sandals to fit an elephant. (Note: the benefit of all rubber sandals is you can stretch them. This is a dangerous endeavour I quickly discovered). When he encouraged me to rethink about the size I had chosen that my shoes should be I may have again used the quote "I researched very carefully...". That may have been the case. What I didn't think about is how to correctly assess the size of my foot. After soaking in boiling water the sandal straps are now thankfully no longer appropriate for a hippo.

All in all it really hasn't been that bad. The first 6 days I slept all day, waking up only to take more pain killers and fix the pillows that propped me up and stopped my from rolling onto my blisters of death. Hopefully my time on the couch is nearing the end!!!

Turns out I am NOT the strongest woman in the world.

This week I have been broken by illness. And let me tell you, as a French (okay former French) this means a lot. Members of the French family do not get ‘ill’. They feel slightly less awesome, take some Tyelenol and move on. They do not let something as silly as an illness affect them. This would be weak. We are not weak. We are strong. During my five years of teaching in England (yes Grandma, it has been five years instead of the promised one, something I am forever being reminded of) I have taken one day off work for illness. One day. This week I completely shattered my almost perfect attendance record. I have not left the house since Tuesday. This is Saturday. It turns out the French mantra of “You’re not ACTUALLY sick” doesn’t always apply. 

This is the progression of my illness (another thing the French family loves is a good, detailed description of anything less than nice, the more disgusting the better).

Saturday: “Hmm, my skin feels weird. I must drink more water, drinking more water fixes everything.”

Sunday: “Andrew if you come near my skin I will kill you. Literally kill you. Don’t even think of touching my skin. Everything hurts!! I must drink more water, that will help.”

Monday: “Weird, red patches. Nothing a French can’t handle! And those feelings of wanting to puke every 20 minutes are easy to ignore. To distract myself I will pretend I am a frog and play frog tag with the children.”

Tuesday: “Awesome, the patches have grown and now stretch around my body. Lovely, I have just woken up and I already feeling like garbage. That’s fine, there is only a week and 4 days left of work, only a weak person would admit defeat. Today I shall just walk slightly less like a drill sergeant to work to let my body have quiet time before I roll on the ground, jump through hoops (literally) and then teach long division.” 2 hours later…. “Okay, feeling dizzy. And pukey. Will. Not. Admit. Defeat. I can teach division from a sitting position! It’s all about compromising with your body!”

Tuesday afternoon: Call my Grandma for sympathy, “Alicia, it sounds like you have shingles. Go to the clinic.” “No, we Frenches don’t go to the clinic. We are tough.” Call my mother for sympathy, “Alicia, stop being like your father. Go to the clinic. Go now. GO. NOW.” Clinic nurse, “You have shingles. It’s going to get worse. No treatment for such tough, Navy Seal French family members like you! You can suffer through it using all of your experience of suffering!” (Okay, that may have been a slight exaggeration).

Wednesday:  “BAHHHHHHH!! LOOK AT MY BODY! I AM A HUMAN SNAKE!!” Andrew- “You’re not going to work.”

Alicia- “It’s fine, as long as I take a taxi, move slowly, sit all day, nap at lunch and no one touches me all day long I’ll be totally fine!”

Andrew- “You’re not going to work.”

Alicia- Pouty face.

Andrew- “If you go to work you’re going to end up looking like a human snake on our honeymoon.”

Alicia- “I’m not going to work.”

Thursday: “THE PAINNNNNNNN! It can’t possibly get worse!! The blisters can’t possibly grow any larger! Now I look like a zombie snake!!!!”

Friday: “ARGHHHHH!! It hurts ten bazillion times worse! The blisters are growing!!!!! Now I look like a zombie snake with a sunburn!!!”

Saturday: “AHHHHHHHHHHH!! They have turned PURPLE!! Purple hurts more!!!! Purple is the colour of pain!!!!! Now I look like a nasty blistered Barney/Teletubby zombie snake!!”

Conclusion: I thought I was tough. I am not. Shingles are stronger than me. Shingles can break even the strongest of the Frenches!

Note: I would have attached photos as I think the blisters are incredibly awesomely nasty but for some reason I have a feeling that everyone else may not feel the same way. However, I have been updating my nearest and dearest with daily blister updates photos. How lucky are they?!?!?!?