Some of the grandsons were staying with us this weekend and one of them came down with a 103-degree temperature.  It was the flu, type A. 

I hate fever!  It does strange things to me. Like a knife, fever brings an impending terror to my mind.  

I’ve had the exact same fever dream I’ve had since childhood. It resurrects itself, poking bony fingers up from the cemetery of good health to snag and pull at all sense of well-being. 

Fever brings a deep physical and emotional need to fall asleep, a relief really, instead of buried and shivering under mounds of blankets.

Yet once the eyes close and the mind drifts into never land, terror creeps out of the memory grave.

It’s the same.  Always, the same. 

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