So Friday night, I began coughing. I took all my allergy meds and reasoned that perhaps they’re worse right now and I need to move to daily treatment. I didn’t sleep well. I coughed a lot and spent from about early Saturday from the bed to the bathroom to the bed again. I slept until about 10 and upon rising, felt poorly. Because, I thought, I had not slept well. I thought perhaps some exhaustion, some dehydration…
The Mister turned on the air conditioning and I almost froze to death (!!!) so I went out on the porch to warm my bones. (!!!)
Not being one to let feeling poorly stop me, I set out to work in my yard. Just one strip. Just a lil.
That went faster than expected, so I did a few more sections. It was 88 degrees outside and I never did sweat. If you know me but at all, this was not a good sign.
Yeah. So a fever, chills, a sore throat — well it was only sore when I breathed — a wretched cough, some nausea, body aches… three days of that crap. Weekend plans? What? The coughing was the worst. Even now, it’s enough to stop me in my tracks, enough that people ask me, “Are you okay?” but over the weekend, it was body-wracking, muscle-spasm-ing, rib-cracking pulmonary violence.
Zero stars, would not recommend. Or, if you’re being annoyingly positive — Top Notch Virus, splendid in its replication.
I am not good at being sick. All I do is worry about what’s causing the sick and how long I’ll be sick. It’s bad for my anxiety. Bigtime.
I was a sick kid. Lots of pink penicillin and yellow sippy cups. In rebellion, I tried the “rub some dirt on it” method when I left home and this did not work out for me. It just didn’t. We don’t need to get into it. My mother was never wrong in taking me to the doctor, I simply wanted to live more freely, with less intervention, without all the special. I would make my own decisions, see? It was all very YOLO and shit. And I learned the hard way.
No doctor has ever said to me, about me, “It will run its course. Hydrate and rest.”
Doctors have said that to me about my children, but not about me. On the other hand, I have had many doctors tell me I waited too long, blah blah blah, take these horse pills, let’s re-evaluate in 90 days, we’ll be performing emergency surgery, blah blah blah.
I’ve gotten better about choosing to go, choosing to surrender. I’ve heard that’s more important as we age. I am not going to say I’m good at it. Yet. I still err on the side of ‘it’ll pass’. This one is passing.
I’m a weakling. Without modern medicine, I’da done died twenty times over. I’m freakin fortunate regardless. I may fall ill a lot, but I’m a speedy healer. Practice makes perfect!