Day 34 & 35: The Meow Chat Conspiracy & The Return of 10% Appetite

My deepest apologies for vanishing for a couple of days, but frankly, my body has been hijacked by some sort of hellish entity.

A strain, a virus, a demon?

No idea.

All I know is that if I were in Stranger Things, I’d definitely be stuck in the Upside Down, but with fewer Demogorgons and more furballs plotting against me.

Yes, you read that right.

Apparently, while I’ve been horizontal for the better part of a week, my boyfriend and the cats have set up a secret surveillance network called MeowChat™.

It turns out I’m not even allowed to get up without clearance.

Every time I so much as shift position, I hear faint meows, suspicious whispers, and probably the sound of my other half checking the hidden nanny cam disguised as a plant pot.

I swear I saw one of the cats typing today.

Either I’m hallucinating, or the resistance has already lost.

Food-wise, we’ve been on an interesting journey.

Yesterday’s breakfast was a bagel thin with jam - tiny and quite sad but jam was delicious!

Today's breakfast, however, was my legendary protein bowl.

Yes, the famous one! Because if you have been horizontal for days and your body feels like borrowed equipment, you cling to protein like it's a life raft.

It was exactly what I needed. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Lunch: yesterday’s highlight was an M&S tomato soup (to which I rebelliously added peas).

Reader, it was glorious.

My first genuine enjoyment of food in over a week. I nearly wept.

Dinner, however, did not happen – the thought of chewing was just too ambitious.

Fast forward to tonight and I went wild: tofu in black bean sauce with noodles from COOK.

Frozen, yes.

Microwaved, yes.

Delicious, also yes.

Suddenly, my appetite has returned to about 10% capacity.

Is this a sign the virus is losing its grip? Or is it the calm before the storm? Honestly, it could go either way.

The fatigue, though.

My God.

I have been tired before, but this is a new breed of exhaustion.

The type of fatigue where even blinking feels like a cardio workout.

My body still doesn’t feel like my own, my brain is wrapped in fog, and if anyone asked me to solve basic maths right now, I’d cry and possibly pass out.

Speaking of passing out: tonight I attempted my first long hot bath in days. Risk assessment was carried out (i.e., boyfriend lurking by the door, cats circling the tub like furry lifeguards who can’t swim).

Thankfully, no fainting, no drowning – just a brief existential crisis when I caught sight of myself in the mirror and wondered when exactly I started resembling Gollum.

Entertainment front: I’ve “watched” TV, by which I mean I’ve fallen asleep in front of various shows and woken up completely confused as to why an episode of Masterchef turned into an advert for car insurance.

My concentration is so low, I could probably watch the same episode five times and still not know who won.

Tomorrow is weigh-in day and also jab number 6 (second dose of 5mg).

Am I excited? Unsure.

Considering I haven’t moved all week and have eaten roughly the diet of a recovering Victorian orphan, the scales could either reward me or laugh in my face.

Final thoughts before I crawl back into bed with my hot water bottle – a furry cat-shaped legend called Mustard – along with penicillin and paracetamol:

Still ill.

Still being monitored by the MeowChat surveillance squad.

Still constipated (future-me’s problem).

Still very much feeling sorry for myself.

But… if appetite is returning and I’m still alive after the bath incident, maybe the tide is turning.

Either way, Isle of Wight this weekend will be less “holiday” and more “recovery retreat for the nearly deceased.”

Night, fellow jabbers. Avoid viruses, and if your cats start group chatting behind your back… RUN

With Love,

JABatha Christie