On Being Sick

I don't get sick very often. Thank the Lord for that, because I suck at it! I know people who I think like to be sick. I don't know if they like the attention they get or if they like the feeling of being helpless and needing to be taken care of.  I don't like either of those things. I don't like too much attention. And I HATE being helpless or needy. (I am not real crazy about being around helpless or needy people over the age of five.)  I hate being sick, so on the rare occasions I find myself ill, I go to war.  I take to my bed, I take every immune support supplement I can find and that I think I can mix without accidental suicide, I sleep as much as I can and immobilize myself with reading books during whatever few hours there are in the day when I can't sleep. It is all out war. Me versus the germs.

When I do go back to work the daylight hours are mere truce-time, during which I chug tea, and live on a diet of zinc lozenges and homeopathic cold remedies. If I thought I could get away with it at work, I hang a head of garlic around my neck.

Recently I caught a bad cold for the first time in years. I actually missed a day of work. (I did that more for the benefit of my co-workers than for mine -- I worked from home that day.) I slept more and read more in a one week period than I can remember. I did no fiction writing during that entire period. But, I read some great stuff. I discovered some cool new homeopathic cold treatments. I spent quite a lot of time thinking about people who are chronically ill, people whose pain and suffering will not go away after a few nights of extra sleep with a vaporizer and zinc lozenges.

As I started to feel better, I was awash with gratitude for my ordinary healthy constitution, and compassion for those who suffer from chronic diseases and pain.