AUTHOR CATCHES SUDDEN ILLNESS
I came down with something right before my deadline. Maybe I've been pushing myself gradually past the point of diminishing returns, or maybe it's just bad luck.
It'd been oddly cold since morning. Brr, cold. I turned on the heater and brought the room up to 28˚ C (82.4˚ F), but even when my assistants started saying it was hot, I alone was shivering. This was not a good sign. Sure enough, I got a fever soon afterward.
I'm fairly good at taking care of myself; when I start showing signs of catching a cold, I drink disgusting amounts of water, pile on the layers of clothes, etc., and it'll clear up before it gets bad. This time, though, it was stronger. If I was just cold, no big deal, but I also became nauseous and my stomach was a wreck. Even for that I could say, "Oh, well." The problem was that I felt awful. It felt as bad as having a hangover. I could hardly work in this state. I decided I'd just lay down in bed and get better faster.
I quickly started feeling worse. At first, I was all like, "Yeah, I think I'm gonna live," but gradually, I worked my way to "Help me, help me!" I had an assistant whip up some rice gruel and ate that. My assistants started wondering if it wasn't a norovirus.
I got to the point of wanting to go to the hospital, but unfortunately, it was Sunday. Well, I was feeling so awful I didn't want to move anyway, so I figured I'd just rest and get better. Or so I thought at first, but now it was past afternoon and I hadn't improved at all.
At this rate, I wasn't likely to get better before the day was out. Not good. Even with progress pressing at the best of times, I was running three days late. If I wasted today, I'd owe for four days. And yet, even though I was already out for the count, if I took off two days, my art was bound to suffer. It was one of those "author catches sudden illness" things. I'd blown it countless times before, but this was really my first sudden illness. But who'd believe me if I said that? Well, any reason would do.
Anyway, I decided to go to a holiday clinic. Luckily, there's one not too far away, so off I went.
When I got there, it was closed. I was feeling pretty hopeless. An old man came out and asked what I wanted. When I asked about the hospital, he told me, "It's only open on Sundays and holidays."
...so wouldn't that include today?! I went home confused. When I got back, I got a call from my assistant. "Bad news! Today's Monday!"
I think artists on monthly series often forget what day of the week it is. So, I dropped in on a different local hospital. I was handed a medical thermometer along with my registration forms. I measured my temperature at 39.1˚ C (102.38˚ F), and the receptionist was shocked when I handed back the thermometer. "What!? Did you take this reading just now!?" Well, you DID hand the thermometer to me just now... "Oh, my goodness, this is serious!" They brought me to a bed inside to rest until my examination started.
I'd been worried what would happen if my temperature had dropped below 37˚ C (98.6˚ F) when I took it at the hospital: "Well, it WAS over 39˚ when I left home...well, sorry to have come here when it wasn't serious. I'll just go home and sleep it off." So I was relieved when it read 39.1˚.
At any rate, I received some medicine, went home and got some rest. I have no idea what I'd caught. Would've been nice if they'd given me a Holmes-style decisive diagnosis.
I felt a little settled down during the night, and I worried whether to get back to work. But if I rushed things at that point, I'd have a relapse and really be down for the count. I decided to sleep until morning. I had a lot of dreams—about twenty.
When morning came, my temperature was still 38˚ C (100.4˚ F), but my discomfort, nausea and headache had cleared up. Now I could draw my art. While I was drawing, my fever cleared up by that night.
And so I'm all better now.