Good news is that I don't have strep. Since strep and I don't get along very well, I'm happy about that.
Bad news is that the doc thinks I have mono (plus some kind of secondary sinus problem), hence the staggering fatigue. I have the swollen lymph nodes, fatigue, sore throat, and tender spleen (WTF?) to suggest mono. Mono spot was negative, but the mono spot test is rather unreliable, besides which it can take a good three weeks before sufficient antibodies ride to the rescue to show up on such a test -- and that's assuming you have a normal immune system, and not a stupid one that's constantly fighting off terrifying bad guys like dust mites and sweet gum pollen (in fact, after bee and wasp stings, my immune system has apparently identified SWEET GUM POLLEN, of all things, as public enemy number one) whilst dropping the ball every time an actual pathogen rolls into sight, losing the game every time.
Come to think of it, maybe that's why I like Chicago so much. All of the Cubs players of the past have been reincarnated as my T1 leukocytes or whatever, and are busy losing the pennant, year after year. (If you build it, they will come ... but they will still lose.)
Now, I realize it's silly to insult my immune system for failing to fight off mono -- that's kind of like blaming some tiny kilt-wearing ox-cart country like Outer East Cannunistan (my favorite imaginary nation) for being subsumed by the tank-happy Soviet Union during that whole weird 20th century paroxysm of ersatz communism.
But still, considering that I spend significant portions of my life feeling crappy, I do feel that I've earned the right to complain at least a bit.
Besides, I slept a total of like 2.235 hours last night and I'm in a Mood. Hypogonadism (which, oddly enough doesn't mean that one has small gonads, just that they 'no work too good') notwithstanding, I am in fact a giant baby, like most men: literally. I lack the ability to properly discern when I am tired and/or hungry, and -- to make matters worse -- when I am tired or hungry, long before I realize that I am, I get cranky. Then I refuse to admit to myself that I am, in fact, tired and/or hungry until it becomes supremely self-evident. I am like the toddler who sits there with his little fists clenched and waving about in defiance, willing his eyes to remain open with all his might, all the while protesting, "NOT TIRED! DON' WANNA GO BED!"
Right now, I am that toddler. Only that toddler also had a cup of coffee at the pharmacy while waiting to pick up some meds, so the toddler in question is also full of jittery energy and thinks he can write or something (I have noticed that, for me, sleep deprivation + caffeine = delusions of grandeur).
Anyway. The long and short of all of this looks like so:
- I am off the bike for a bit. At least 'til the really noticeable symptoms go away.
- Once I'm back on the bike, it will have to be in a limited capacity: in other words, whether or not, I will have to restructure my training program.
- 'Cross season is a huge question mark. I am definitely out of the running even to train for the next four weeks, due to the possibility of whacking myself in the spleen with a bicycle, tripping over barriers and going ker-splat, or otherwise causing my liver and/or spleen to explode, which would immediately upgrade my illness from 'Really Annoying Setback' to 'Major Medical Emergency RIGHT NOW!'
- I will be taking it very, very easy for the rest of the month, as I still really want to do the running thing on the 20th if I have it in me, and we're going to Burning Man the first week of school. I would really like to not sleep through all of it.