Sick Days

2 02 2010

I always find it interesting that I’m most grateful for my health when I’m sick.

I’ve been sick for two days.

The kind of sick where your insides feel jumpy and your outsides feel the same. Where even the brushing of your clothes against your skin feels like sandpaper, and you’ve eaten so little you’re weak as a newborn kitten. Where the ache starts just between your shoulder blades and starts spreading, spreading like the dread you feel in your heart because you know, all vitamin C- and zinc-popping aside, it’s coming and there’s no way to stop it.

The virus.

It’s been hopping through the family like a drunken ping-pong ball, taking one of us hostage here, grazing another one of us there.

When it reaches the captain of the ship, though, things (meaning food preparation and laundry, picking up and putting away, those sorts of things) grind to an unweildy halt.

They don’t matter so much, really, when a body’s being reamed out.

Who needs food, anyway? Clean clothes? Pah.

Two days, and I’m starting to come out. Self is reasserting. The long nap this morning helped, as did the hot bath this afternoon. Thank goodness for ibuprofen.

Now I start the slippery slope of recovery: doing, but not too much. I don’t want to land in this land again anytime soon.