|This is the kind of sickness|
|March 20, 2011|
This is the kind of sickness where the smallest of efforts -- standing up, sitting down, rolling over -- requires a rest before any other exertion can be attempted.
This is the kind of sickness where after getting out of a hot salt bath in hopes of alleviating some of the aches that are clearly laughing right in the faces of all the useless ibuprofen and Aspirin, I have to lie panting on the bathroom floor wondering if I should just make my peace with living there.
This is the kind of sickness where I get dramatic and imagine myself as Marianne Dashwood, all pale and sweaty and fretful in her bed, almost dying of her flu like so many others did. Like I might. And then I get jealous that they all probably got to take laudanum.
This is the kind of sickness where I look up symptoms online at 3:00 in the morning because it never occurred to me that worrying about meningitis would be yet another sleep preventative.
This is the kind of sickness where I make all sorts of promises -- in my head because forming the words with my cracked lips would require a rest between syllables -- about all the fruits and vegetables I intend to eat if I ever get my chewing strength back.
This is the kind of sickness where the prospect of a liquid lunch comprised only of a delicious, rich, throat-soothing vanilla milkshake fails to raise my appetite and instead makes me grumble, "Why do we have to eat at all? It's so stupid."
This is the kind of sickness where I crawl to the kitchen to slice and roast sweet potatoes with curry if only to ensure that my suddenly picky toddler has more than air to eat at dinner.
This is the kind of sickness where I will have to wipe down the sweat that has accumulated on my keyboard just from writing this.
This is the kind of sickness where I'm beyond grateful that I got this kind of sickness during a grandparents' visit.