Yesterday afternoon I didn’t feel very well… but I tried to talk myself out of it. I told myself I was just tired. That I’d pushed too hard. That my body did that thing where it begs for rest in a language most people don’t have to learn. I kept moving anyway, because that’s what moms do… and because I’m so tired of every single “off” feeling turning into a whole ordeal.
Then last night, I checked my temperature… and there it was. 99.5. It’s almost laughable, right? A number that most people would shrug off. A number that wouldn’t even make someone blink. But in this house… in this body… that number doesn’t land like “a little warm.” It lands like a warning light… because history has taught us what fevers can turn into.
Of course, in perfect timing, our furnace broke down… if you like irony. I’m snuggled in bed, under the covers, and eager for the HVAC technician to arrive, so I can regain my warmth. Fever + no heat… is a bad combo. Everything feels heavier because of it. It makes every ache louder. It turns “just rest” into “try to stay comfortable while your whole body can’t regulate.”
I had sepsis fifteen times in two years. Fifteen. Living in the hospital is something I’ve done. I’ve watched IV poles become part of my scenery. I’ve learned the sound of monitors like some people learn lullabies. And I don’t say that for pity… I say it because it changed my family. It changed my girls. I think people forget that sepsis doesn’t just leave your body when you get discharged… it leaves a shadow. Your nervous system gets trained by it. It trains your brain. It trains your children.
Last night, my 12-year-old walked out of wrestling practice to me telling her I had to take her to her dad’s because I had a fever, just to be on the safe side. She stood there for a second as if she were reading me, like she were scanning my face for clues. She got in the car and tried to sound casual and failed… “Mom… why do you keep getting so many fevers all the sudden?” Inside my Momma heart broke because what do you even say to that? An excellent answer for her wasn’t something I had. I’m unsure of the reason. Why my body won’t behave is a mystery. I don’t know why, but it hasn’t even been two weeks since my last fever, and here we are again.
And it’s not like this fear is coming out of nowhere. In May, I had surgery… and afterward I ended up with an infection. Not a mild one. I got an abscess the size of a lemon inside my rectus abdominis muscle… my abdominal wall. A lemon. Inside my body. And here’s the part that still makes my stomach turn… my white blood cell count was low the whole time. It’s been low. It continues to be low. So when my body runs warm again, it doesn’t feel like a simple “bug”… it feels like my body sounding an alarm while also not having the tools to fight the way it’s supposed to. My body fights off nothing… and living with that reality changes the way you hear every symptom.
The weirdest part is… I don’t even feel like I’m coming down with something contagious. There is no cough. I don’t have a sore throat. I have no runny nose. No URI symptoms. No symptoms led to the flu. Nothing like that. I just feel like my body is being dumb again. Generalized muscle weakness… like my body forgot how to hold itself up. Joint aches… the kind that make you feel eighty years old when you’re just trying to walk to the kitchen. A headache… heavy and dull, like a storm cloud sitting behind my eyes. And my knees… my knees feel wobbly to walk, like they aren’t trustworthy, like I have to concentrate just to make it across the room without feeling unstable.
It’s such a strange experience… because it’s not dramatic enough to look like an emergency to anyone watching… but it’s enough to make living inside my skin feel hard. And because I’m a mom… and because I’ve lived through the nightmare versions of “it’s probably nothing”… I had to decide. To ensure her well-being, I sent my daughter to stay with her dad. Even though I’m 99% certain I’m not contagious. I don’t feel contagious. I feel like my body hates me. However, I don’t want to risk spreading something around the entire household and on to the next… and meet here again in two weeks. I’m tired of the cycle. Tired of getting knocked down again.
The silence after making the “right” choice can be brutal; as protecting kids can mean sending them away, a backwards heartbreak. I’m annoyed and frustrated. I am depleted, both in my body and my soul. Because every time this happens, it’s another reminder that my baseline isn’t normal… and my “little symptoms” aren’t little when you’ve been through what I’ve been through. So today, I’m monitoring, paying attention and taking it seriously without spiraling… trying to hold my girls’ hearts gently, even when mine feels raw… and waiting for warmth, answers, and a body that doesn’t feel like it’s constantly working against me.
Say a prayer for my girls… for their peace, for their childhood to be light… even when my body isn’t. I can handle a fever. What I hate is what it does to them… and what it reminds me of.
