Pandemics iii.

 Roasted Chicken Breast, Bone-in, Skin-on, KB-style

 Hard Boiling Eggs with Poacher

Salad Art prior to Addition of Shredded Chicken Breast

The above photographs depict a day in late April that I felt strongly about having a shredded chicken salad a la KB-mode, which included roasting a split bone-in skin-on chicken breast (using clean fingers to slime mayonnaise under the chicken skin, an old poultry baking trick I found on the Internet years ago), hard boiling eggs for the first time in the poacher my Mom gifted me a couple of years ago (I'm behind, I know) and chopping colorful vegetables as a bed for the shredded chicken and egg. For whatever reason I did not snap a finale, but it was memorably satisfying. 

I suppose I will spill the story of my COVID-era yet not-COVID-tested sickness of last week. Actually, possibly it was 2 weeks ago now? In fact, yes, I believe that's the case. So let's plant this experience somewhere in May 2020, whether it be first or second week thereof.

Before I go on, tonight I did puree the canned potato soup, added milk and crushed red pepper and sea salt and yet it still tasted like potato - I even dropped a couple of cubes of creamed cheese on in there. But, with the browned ground turkey and poured generously over egg noodles, it turned out pretty well. I heated some canned French-cut green beans as a side, and admittedly ate more tonight (volume) than I have in a long time. I believe the egg noodles have had me at hello. They are buttery and oh so gratifying. 

So, the illness.

I don't know how this comes about, but on a Wednesday (I think) I began throwing up uncontrollably. I had been (believe I mentioned) drinking water as if water wouldn't carry on without my consumption of it. And out of sheer nowhere, I couldn't hold it down. And appetite? Forget it: zero. So for the following 3 days, I lost my weight in brain matter, stomach lining and any electrolytes that may have existed to keep my hydration levels afloat. Oh, and motivation. My apartment kitchen counter was littered with so many used drinking glasses and miscellaneous that I should have appeared on some nightmare home show depicting neglect.

Many phone calls with many family members and friends later, it was recommended that I somehow get my hydration levels back up to par.

It wasn't as dire as when my thyroid numbers were diagnosed, but it was not easy, either. 

Here comes the hard part to discuss with even myself, because it's embarrassing. I shudder to think back, actually.

Evidently I suffered from hallucinations as I struggled to regain strength. I will not make excuses for myself, however I will say that isolation + dehydration = mental collapse. Caveat: I do not do drugs, nor do I sniff anything toxic for entertainment, nor do I do anything otherwise to bring this on. 

The first this was pointed out to me was by my friend Alex. One of the afternoons that I was still heaving up liquids (whatever I could swallow to satiate the thirst) I suppose I fell asleep mid-day and when I semi-woke I heard his voice outside my window. I swear it was so vivid and real. I began texting him at some point (fully believing he had traveled to Forest Hills with one of his kids and later believing his wife was also here.) An entire handful of hours played out wherein I let him into my apartment, he and his wife and she was aggressive at me for no apparent reason, saying extremely rude and sharp things about me loud enough for me to overhear. This episode stretched for hours. It was so fucking real, though. His voice, his wife's voice, their physical presence in my apartment. So I guess Alex was receiving all of these cryptic texts from me (real) that he was perplexed by (why wouldn't he be?) and finally the entire thing ended, for me, and I fell asleep hard.

The next scene is worse, still, but I don't have the emotional energy to narrate that now. I will. Again, this is embarrassing, because I lost complete control of my mind to physical depletion. 

Alex called me a day later and wanted to let me know what had elapsed. He admitted he didn't know how to approach the event, because he didn't want to seem abrupt or invasive in his explanation of the unfolding of the hours to me. He was like, Kristin, have you ever been alone for this long? I mean, no? I've been alone most of my life, moving around alone but I've always had social interaction of some variety, selected by me when and at what capacity. 

He talked to me about possible culprits: lead poisoning in my water from old apartment building pipes? Food poisoning? And we talked for a while but all I could think to myself was, No, Alex, you were really here, you were right outside on the sidewalk of my apartment. He was like, KB, no, I was in Jersey that entire time. 

Oh, Pandemic. Thanks for giving me some of the most terrifying moments of my life. I can't even tell anyone now. I've wanted to. I've almost. Rob needs to know this because I texted him that night that Alex had been here. I wasn't lying to you, Rob. I sincerely believed it. I didn't tell my therapist this past Saturday on our phone session. She's going to be upset that I will have waited too long to tell her.

Delusions? Dementia? Broken brain? What the fuck happened to me?

The story continues, yet, as I mentioned, I can't dig deeper into it yet. This was just a skim of the surface of how I was attacked emotionally and mentally and how rising up is the only option moving forward.

My favorite texts late this evening:

Me: "I have a head of cauliflower to contend with. I can't decide what preparation I want. It was an impulse buy, really. I haven't had cauliflower in ages."

Rob: "I love cauliflower."

Of course he does. 

I need to tell him this stuff from being sick. Despite the seeming gulf between us, he is still the person I love the most in the universe right now.