My slimy eyelids peel away from each other; the sensation is nearly vomit-worthy. Instinctive panic rises in me as my body realizes my eyes are open and still can’t see. I suppress it and roll out of bed, mindful of a swelling belly. I don’t need to see to get to the bathroom. I flip on the lights, my blindness shifting to blurriness enough to distinguish the fluffy roll of toilet paper. I dab at my eyes, removing the blurs with an unsteady hand. Two bleary eyes, the sight of which will bring tears to anyone, stare back at me. There goes eye number two.  I hate pink eye.

Sleep is not an option tonight, just as it wasn’t last night.

I stumble to the kitchen looking like some creature out of a zombie movie, hacking fluid from my lungs as I go. The coughs tear at a throat that feels like its been scored with razors. I grab for any one of the medicines accumulating by the oven, promising relief, and down some with a glass of water.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it through tonight. My step brother’s wedding invitation has been jeering at me since Wednesday, the day this wonderful virus took over my life. Be there at 5:15 for pictures, my parents said. Fantastic.   They want pictures of my cute, flower girl daughter and… yes, they’ll still want me in some of those pictures even looking half-dead.

I know the girl solution to my problem: I’ll just sit here on my couch and cry, except I don’t think my eyes can right now. My birthday is this week: Thursday, Thanksgiving Day. What a joke. Hurray Sarah, happy twenty fourth. Looks like this year will be one to remember.

My coughs have roused another little zombie from her bed. I rush to tuck her back in before she is too awake.