As she stretched out under the covers of the big bed in the master bedroom, she processed how she felt, what it meant. She’d had another fever yesterday, but it had broken just before midnight. She didn’t have a fever now. She just felt sore and aching and like she had no energy at all. Her body was probably just protesting the toll the fevers were taking on it. So even on her good days she might not really feel good. Since she’d started the experimental treatments, the rhythm of her fevers had changed. The fevers came more often, but they didn’t last as long. So she’d been sick on Sunday, when Paul had found her at Stacie’s. Then she’d been well on Monday. Sick on Tuesday. Today was Wednesday. Today she should feel well. But she didn’t. She wondered if she’d ever really feel well again. Feeling a heavy weight in her chest, she pulled the covers up over her head, wanting to hide, wanting it all to go away. But, even as she did, a flicker of thought reminded her that she would go in for another round of the latest treatment today.
