Leper
I have mixed feelings about being sick. I suppose I would prefer being well, but I have to admit there is a part of me who revels in the attention. Nothing like coughing up a body part to elicit an, "You sound terrible, poor thing."
I am pitiful.
It's not that being sick got me much attention as a child. Being a Christian Scientist ment we weren't supposed to get sick. So being sick was an emotionally bad thing as well as a physical one.
But my latest bout of sinus infection and fever was almost a vacation. I got to sit in my easy chair, drink Theraflu, suck on cough drops and watch whatever television I wanted. Oh, the fever, congestion and coughing weren't (aren't) fun, but at least I wasn't puking. I hate puking with a passion. I will endure almost anything to avoid puking, even though you know that you always feel better after you puke. It's just the approach and mid-wretching that gets to me.
Being sick at work has avantages and disadvantages. People aren't so anxious to meet with you when you are overflowing with mucous. You can see them visibly recoil as though you had a sign reading, "UNCLEAN" around your neck (hear the one about the leper hockey game...there's a face off in the corner). The disadvantae is that no one wants to go to lunch or coffee with you (though you can't taste anything anyway).
I should feel grateful that my illnesses have all been relatively minor ones. It is easy to bask in minor self-pity, choking back snot and blowing your nose constantly when you know it will go away and you'll be back to normal. I doubt I'd be so cavelier if it was something serious and my odds of ever getting out of the easy chair again were minimal.
I did think about my father during my bouts of self-pity over the weekend. I remember when he was diagnosed with stomach cancer and was confined to his bed, unable to eat and in constant pain. And I cringe as I recall him clutching me as I helped him to the bathroom, crying, "Take the pain away, please take the pain away...." And I couldn't.
So I feel petty with my sinus infection and cough. I feel weak for complaining and not shrugging it off. My father never left his bed after that. At least I'll rise and walk.
And rise and walk.
I am pitiful.
It's not that being sick got me much attention as a child. Being a Christian Scientist ment we weren't supposed to get sick. So being sick was an emotionally bad thing as well as a physical one.
But my latest bout of sinus infection and fever was almost a vacation. I got to sit in my easy chair, drink Theraflu, suck on cough drops and watch whatever television I wanted. Oh, the fever, congestion and coughing weren't (aren't) fun, but at least I wasn't puking. I hate puking with a passion. I will endure almost anything to avoid puking, even though you know that you always feel better after you puke. It's just the approach and mid-wretching that gets to me.
Being sick at work has avantages and disadvantages. People aren't so anxious to meet with you when you are overflowing with mucous. You can see them visibly recoil as though you had a sign reading, "UNCLEAN" around your neck (hear the one about the leper hockey game...there's a face off in the corner). The disadvantae is that no one wants to go to lunch or coffee with you (though you can't taste anything anyway).
I should feel grateful that my illnesses have all been relatively minor ones. It is easy to bask in minor self-pity, choking back snot and blowing your nose constantly when you know it will go away and you'll be back to normal. I doubt I'd be so cavelier if it was something serious and my odds of ever getting out of the easy chair again were minimal.
I did think about my father during my bouts of self-pity over the weekend. I remember when he was diagnosed with stomach cancer and was confined to his bed, unable to eat and in constant pain. And I cringe as I recall him clutching me as I helped him to the bathroom, crying, "Take the pain away, please take the pain away...." And I couldn't.
So I feel petty with my sinus infection and cough. I feel weak for complaining and not shrugging it off. My father never left his bed after that. At least I'll rise and walk.
And rise and walk.
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