Quarantined… literally.

This past week has kind of sucked. I’ve been sick for the past five days. Like really sick. What first appeared to be the stomach flu has turned into something else of a mysterious viral like situation that prohibits me from venturing farther than 20 feet from a bathroom at any given moment.

I’m not the kind who’s used to being sick in the manor that it’s all consuming in your life. A cold here, a migraine there… I usually work through it. This has been different. Not only has my stomach decided to turn itself inside out, but I have been unable to eat essentially anything for the last five days either. Crackers and Gatorade, though fantastic for the waistline and preparation for bikini season (if Seattle ever gets one again) is very boring on the palette. The fat girl inside me is really missing her food!

I’ve also been extra emotional out of shear frustration for not getting better and not being able to leave the house for what seems like an eternity.

On a side note, Louise, the kitty who recently entered into her lady cat-hood, just came home from the vet yesterday after getting fixed. Because we live in a zoo with three stories, the vet instructed us to keep her removed from the other pets and off stairs for two weeks. We’ll be lucky if that lasts through the weekend. Regardless, we’ve set up a little red tent for her in the office to recuperate and rest.

This afternoon, I groggily made my way to the office to check in on the little miss. Closing the door behind me so Gatsby wouldn’t barge in, and Louise wouldn’t break out, the knob on my end of the door fell off. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Actually many knobs on many of our doors fall off. In fact, most doors don’t really close at all in my house (more on that in another post...) This is, however, the first time its happened when I was on the wrong side of the door and home alone.

As I realized that I had just locked myself into the office, panic fell over me and irrational emotion-filled tears promptly followed. Katie wasn’t coming home until nine! I had just gotten off the phone with my go-to personal medical advisor (my mom) who told me I was close to dehydration and if I wasn’t careful, might find myself in the hospital. A vision of me passed out on the floor next to a stitched up cat came to mind. I even briefly considered re-hydrating myself with her bowl of water.... briefly.

Twenty minutes passed and I finally noticed a laptop was in the office (thank goodness we have four computers in the house!) And so began the panic emails. I sent an email to every address that Katie had ever owned begging her to call her parents to drive all the way in from Renton to come let me out... Thirty minutes later when there was no response, it dawned on me that maybe she wasn't in front of her computer all day like many of us are.

I wondered if any of the doors or windows were open around the house. As this idea began to develop I realized that not only was I not wearing a bra or shoes, but had failed to brush my teeth or shower and probably looked like the walking dead. Since I was more desperate to get out of my captivity, I swallowed my pride (thank goodness this is Tacoma) and popped out the window screen. After tightrope walking along our white picket fence (the office stands over the basement driveway and is therefore nowhere near the ground) I hopped into our lawn and began my reconnaissance of trying to break into the house. It's times like these when you have an ironic appreciation for how secure your house really is. Without breaking an antique window, there was no way into the home except back through the window I had previously escaped from.

By now a good hour and a half had passed. I was trying not to think about my panic of being locked in the office the rest of the day and set out to get some work done. It was when I finally cleared my head, that ideas for breaking the lock came to mind. I didn't have any tools with me, but all my sewing supplies are in the office. Using a pair of sewing scissors (super spy style), I fit them into the slot where the knob was supposed to be and miraculously opened the door.

It's funny, despite my relief for freedom, the quick success of my efforts was a little anticlimactic. Not that I had visions of news coverage, balloons, and welcome camps à la Chilean Miner's rescue... (and Gatsby was pretty happy to see me out)... it just made me feel a little dumb that the simple solution hadn't occurred to be two hours prior.

I spent the rest of my afternoon of freedom avoiding the office and drinking plenty of fluids. Though I'm still sick there's nothing like locking yourself in a room to remind you that it could always be worse.