Lena knew something was wrong when she woke up Tuesday morning feeling like she'd been run over by a truck. Well, maybe not a truck. More like a really heavy bicycle.
She'd been pushing herself pretty hard at the accounting firm for weeks now. Tax season was brutal, and Mr. Peterson had been breathing down everyone's neck about those quarterly reports. The coffee maker in the break room had basically become her best friend.
"Ugh," she groaned, rolling over to check her alarm clock. 7:15 AM. She had exactly forty-five minutes to get ready and make it to work. But her head felt fuzzy, and there was this weird ache behind her eyes.
Maybe it was just fatigue. She'd been pulling late nights for three weeks straight.
Lena dragged herself to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Yikes. Her usually neat brown hair looked like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket, and her face was pale except for these weird red patches on her cheeks.
"Come on, Lena. You're fine," she told herself, splashing cold water on her face. "Just tired."
She got dressed in her usual work clothes - navy blazer, white blouse, black pants - but everything felt heavier today. Like her clothes were made of concrete instead of cotton.
The drive to work was rough. Every red light made her want to put her head down on the steering wheel and take a nap. She kept the radio low because even the music seemed too loud.
"Morning, sunshine!" her coworker Claudia called out when Lena walked into the office. "You look like—"
"Like hell, I know." Lena slumped into her desk chair. "I think I'm coming down with something."
Claudia frowned and walked over. She was one of those people who always looked put-together, even at 8 AM. "You do look pretty rough. Maybe you should go home?"
"Can't. Peterson's been on everyone about the Morrison account, and I've got three client meetings today." Lena turned on her computer and immediately regretted it when the bright screen made her head pound even worse.
She made it through the first hour okay. Answered some emails, reviewed a few spreadsheets. But by 9:30, she was starting to feel genuinely awful. Her throat was scratchy, her nose was getting stuffy, and she kept having these little coughing fits.
"Lena, seriously," Claudia said, appearing at her desk again with a cup of tea. "You sound terrible. And you keep sniffling."
"I'm fine. Just... uh..." Lena paused to blow her nose. "Just a little under the weather."
The Morrison meeting at 10 AM was a disaster. Not because of the numbers - those were solid. But Lena kept having to excuse herself to cough, and halfway through her presentation, she had this moment where she completely lost her train of thought. Mr. Morrison just sat there looking confused while she stood at the whiteboard, marker in hand, trying to remember what she was supposed to be explaining.
"The quarterly projections," she finally said weakly. "Right. So, um..."
After the clients left, Peterson called her into his office.
"Berkowitz," he said, not looking up from his computer. "What was that?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I think I might be getting sick."
He finally looked at her, and his expression shifted from annoyed to concerned. "You look awful. Go home."
"But the Henderson presentation this afternoon—"
"Claudia can handle it. Go home, get some rest, and don't come back until you're better. I don't need you getting the whole office sick."
Lena wanted to argue, but honestly? She felt like garbage. Her head was pounding, her throat hurt, and she kept having these weird hot-and-cold flashes.
The drive home was even worse than the morning commute. She had to pull over twice because she felt dizzy. By the time she made it to her apartment, she was exhausted.
She collapsed on her couch without even taking off her work clothes. Just laid there staring at the ceiling, feeling miserable. This was more than just being tired. She was actually sick.
The next few days blurred together. Lena called in sick Wednesday and Thursday, spending most of her time sleeping or watching terrible daytime TV. She made soup that tasted like cardboard and drank enough tea to float a boat. Her mom called Thursday evening to check on her.
"You sound awful, honey," her mom said. "Do you need me to come over?"
"No, Mom. It's just a cold or something. I'll be fine."
"When's the last time you took a real break? You've been working yourself to death."
Lena thought about it. When was the last time she'd taken a vacation? Or even a long weekend? She couldn't remember.
Friday morning, she woke up feeling better. Not great, but better. The headache was gone, and she could breathe through her nose again. She made herself actual breakfast instead of just tea and toast.
She was supposed to go back to work, but something made her hesitate. Maybe it was the conversation with her mom, or maybe it was just the way the morning light looked coming through her kitchen window. Peaceful. She couldn't remember the last time she'd noticed morning light.
Instead of getting dressed for work, she called Claudia.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" Claudia asked.
"Better. Listen, can you tell Peterson I'm taking one more day? I know it's Friday, but—"
"Already covered. He said to take the whole week if you need it. Honestly, Lena, we were all worried about you. You looked really rough Tuesday."
After hanging up, Lena found herself with an entire day and nothing to do. No meetings, no deadlines, no Peterson breathing down her neck. It felt strange.
She went for a walk around her neighborhood. Had there always been so many little gardens? When had Mrs. Chen next door planted those roses? They were beautiful.
At the grocery store, she took her time. Actually read ingredients labels instead of just grabbing whatever was fastest. Bought ingredients to make a real dinner instead of her usual frozen meals.
That evening, while she was cooking - actually cooking, not just microwaving - she realized something. She felt relaxed for the first time in months. Yeah, she was still a little stuffy, and her energy wasn't quite back to normal. But she felt... calm.
Her phone rang. It was her sister Emma.
"Mom told me you were sick. How are you doing?"
"Better. Actually, Em... can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you ever feel like you're just... going through the motions? Like every day is exactly the same?"
Emma was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, actually. Why?"
"I think I needed to get sick. Does that sound crazy?"
"No," Emma said slowly. "It doesn't. Sometimes our bodies force us to stop when we won't do it ourselves."
That night, Lena went to bed early. Not because she was exhausted from work, but because she wanted to. She read a book - an actual book, not work reports - and fell asleep feeling content.
Monday morning, she went back to work. But something had changed. She took a real lunch break instead of eating at her desk. When Peterson started getting worked up about some minor deadline, she stayed calm.
"You seem different," Claudia observed around 3 PM. "More... I don't know. Relaxed?"
"I think I needed that break," Lena said. "Even if it took getting sick to make it happen."
"Maybe you should get mildly ill more often."
Lena laughed. "Or maybe I should just listen to my body before it has to knock me flat."
She started taking better care of herself after that. Left work on time most days. Took actual weekends. Got enough sleep. And when she felt that familiar exhaustion creeping in, she'd remember lying on her couch that Wednesday afternoon, too tired to even change out of her work clothes.
