Of course, it was bound to happen: World's Cutest Baby gave me her cold. I almost never get sick (well, except with incurable cancer), and this is the first time I've had a cold since I was diagnosed, so I got a little nervous. Colds, flu, etc., can often be bad news in myeloma, because all of those Godcellas crowded into your bone marrow can prevent your immune system from getting out there and kung-fu fighting the invaders. Why I didn't worry about this back when I was on 24-hour snot patrol with WCB, I don't know. I guess I've dealt with several baby colds over the past several months and have never caught one, so I got cocky. Time for my comeuppance.
I called the oncologist's office and talked to a nurse, who told me that as long as I didn't have a fever, chills, or night sweats, and as long as I wasn't coughing up anything scary, I should be just fine. (No, no, no, and no. Whew.) She's going to call back on Monday, though, to make sure I'm OK.
I'd been up for three nights straight taking care of WCB and her cold, and then spent all of Thursday night awake with my own. (WCB, bless her, decided to sleep for 12 hours straight). It felt like I didn't sleep at all, but I must have, because I have a vague recollection of a dream involving a bunch of people from church and Jodie Foster. By Friday, I was so sleep-deprived I thought I was a hummingbird. Fortunately, my sainted husband came home from work early, took over WCB duty, and went out and got me a cheese pizza from Minsky's. I slept for, like, 14 hours. I'm still hacking and sniffling, but I think I am on the mend. Everybody is kung-fu fighting.