It's been over a week since I started feeling crappy, and I'm no better. I treat the symptoms and they go away, temporarily but then come back the next day a little more vindictive than the day before. Nothing I do makes seems to a difference. I've made changes in my diet, let my body rest when it tells me to, and yet I still wake up feeling no different. At this point, I'm afraid to eat at all. All food seems like poison.

Tomorrow I see my doctor so maybe I can get some answers or at least a big ass bottle of pain pills, 'cause Papa needs him some pain pills NOW. I'll admit it. I'm a wuss when it comes to pain. I feel no shame in that statement. Now give me a percocet damnit.

Elliott has pretty much not left my side since this started. He has an knack of knowing if any of us don't feel well and wants to be with us. And since all I do is sleep, pretty much that's all we do. He still has the record in the house, but I definitely have second place bagged.