Greetings from my miserable little corner of the couch.

That fall I had last week? Well, it turns out that although it didn't actually kill the baby, it did do some damage to me. At first I just felt the shock of the impact, but by Saturday I was crying out in pain when making basic movements, and on Sunday I couldn't get out of bed. (Except to pee. And goodness knows I have to do a fair bit of that these days.)

On Sunday night Gilles put my shoes on for me and dragged me to the urgent care center, where I was prescribed a few days of rest and a double-dose of a pregnancy-safe over-the-counter painkiller. It doesn't seem like anything's broken based on the physical examination, but there was of course no confirmatory x-ray.

Since then I've alternated between couch and bed in a state of misery. It hurts to stand, it hurts to walk, it hurts to sit, it hurts to roll over. The only thing that brings me a bit of comfort is the new hot water bottle that Gilles ran to town to buy me when I learned, with horror, that my old one was leaking.

(Was the horror really necessary? Well, even when a patch of wetness on a mattress is located at the level of the kidneys rather than the birth canal, and even when it's accompanied by a sad and deflated yellow rubber vessel in the form of a duck, the possibility always exists until ruled out with a little application of common sense that it could have been the water breaking!)

(Which raises the question: is there even any water to break at this early stage? Not that I'd let the answer keep me from my irrational fears, of course.)

I was supposed to start teaching a handful of new classes this week – canceled, as are the regular lessons. I feel guilty because I hate letting people down, and backing out at the last minute, no matter what the reason, is no way to start a new job.

But I will admit (here) that I also felt relieved about it, because the thought of adding those hours of work to my pre-existing ones was stressing me a lot. This pregnancy is making me so ill and exhausted all the time that I'm barely making it through the day as is. Bad back or no, I need this break, which is pathetic to say after a mere four weeks of working.

I'm so tired, always, except during the wee hours of the morning when I should be sleeping but can't. I get dizzy and close to passing out when I stand for more than a couple minutes. If I don't have a headache, I know it's but a moment's brief respite. I'm disgusted at the thought of eating, but the less I eat, the sicker I feel, so I have to make myself do it, as repugnant as it is. Even the ice cream my sweet husband brought home with the new hot water bottle to cheer me up made me cringe in disgust.

So that's my little sniffle-sniffle for myself, and now it's time to just get on with it. I don't think that any of this is particularly abnormal for my state, and of course I'm incredibly thankful and grateful for the reason that I feel this way. (Except for the back. No thankfulness or gratitude there.) I do think, though, that a shower might do some good, if not to me then at least to my poor flat-mate who has been kindly tolerating my recent unwashed scuzziness with nary a raised eyebrow. I'll start with that and hope that further improvements will follow.