Apparently, as someone recently said to me, I am to be congratulated for not being dead.
Last Thursday what began as a throat tickle became a SUPERFLU and a sinus infection and pneumonia by Sunday morning.
In the intervening period it was my roommate, EZ's birthday, and I had volunteered to cook a Mardi Gras themed menu on Saturday night. It was a hellagood menu if I do say so myself as we served the following (I have links to all of the recipes used)
1) Hurricanes - made of fresh juice, much of which Tiny squeezed herself, andnot from some shitty mix
2) Fried (sorta) Green Tomatoes with Ranch dressing - I added in some panko sushi flakes to the breadcrumb mixture in the recipe
3) Shrimp and Grits - just use instant grits, seriously. Also I used hot sauce and prosciutto in lieu of tasso.
4) King Cake, ordered from Gambino's in New Orleans
5) Cheesecake stuffed chocolate dipped strawberries - my own sort of hodge podge invention of chocolate covered strawberries + filling comprised of one package of creamcheese, 2 tablespoons of powdered sugar, teaspoon of vanilla, then dip the end in graham cracker crumbs
However, by Saturday I was feeling really icky. Fortunately Tiny assisted by Big N filled in on doing most of the prep work and making the strawberries, so that a few hours before the party I took some cold medicine and pulled myself together enough to get it together. Upon reflection it's pretty clear that I got really sick during the party - not so good since I made food for 25 people - and can't really remember most of the people I talked to that night. I don't remember much, but I know that I left the party early and then during the night my fever must have been really high because I had the chills, and logically took a hot shower or five to warm up and all was well except that I think I took about 14 advil oh and my throat swelled closed. I felt pretty crummy, but everyone went dancing and, you know, I thought I could tough it out.
On Sunday morning my Steven Segal persona gave in, and I text messaged EZ (didn't have the energy to knock on his door) to see if he was going to church because maybe perhaps I needed to go to the ER and I was hoping he could ask some friends which one would be best. Knowing I must be on death's door to have sent such a message, everyone began to appear in my room and Big N took one look at me and declared that I had pneumonia.
EZ was nice enough to take me to the hospital and I was in no position to argue, and fortunately the ER must not have been very busy as I was pretty much able to get right in. The triage nurse was a complete snippy bitch to me and said "well, I think you just have the flu but we have to treat it like you might have pneumonia." He started to rush me to x-ray and shot off down the corridor, but since I couldn't really breathe, I couldn't keep up and he had to double back for me and then he was considerably nicer and seem to realize I wasn't full of shit.
The X-rays revealed that I did in fact have pneumonia and the unusual location of it (top of the lungs) freaked the ER doctor out because that's where TB likes to linger. So because they thought I might have TB I was immediately put in my own isolation room in the ER. From that point on, everyone who came into my room had to put on this duckbilled face mask so that infection didn't spread. I was afraid that if I had TB, everyone at the party would also have TB, making me the Typhoid Mary of the gay party circuit.
Long story long, it's really fortunate that they thought I had TB as that meant I got private room in the ER and eventually in the hospital. Especially since there was a lady in a diaper wandering around the ER that scared me. The not so good part of thinking I had TB was that I had to cough up goo into a specimen container to be taken to the lab and I had to provide three viable samples that would all come back negative. Sadly, my throat was swollen, so this proved difficult.
Three days and many IVs of antibiotics later I was declared TB free and released and aside from a nasty cough I am doing much better. As I was taking a walk yesterday I was having a coughing fit and this guy leans out his window and yells to me "Baby, you need to get you some lemon tea." Can't argue with logic like that.
The moral of this story: if you think you're sick you should maybe not cook for people because you might have some weird infection eventually becoming a social pariah. Yeah, this really isn't a good story or a good lesson, I just thought I would catch everyone up on the reason why I haven't written in a while.
Also, you can make our same sweet recipes for your own party.