Very rarely do I get sick. Like we're talking once every three years or so. I'm quite thankful for my good health, and while it would be cool if I could chalk it up to always eating only the best food, getting a full eight hours of sleep each night, and regular exercise, the truth is I think that good genetics is a greater contributing factor than my regular diet of cereal and knowledge of who is on Leno and Letterman each night. When I do get sick though, the germs that invade my typically healthy self make the most of their stay. Quite frankly, they wear out their welcome.
I should have known it was inevitable. Last week I went home to visit my family and upon my arrival, I was greeted with the information that both brothers were sick. Ethan was on his third round of antibiotics, and Micah was just beginning to show the symptoms. But boys are germy right? So I could practice good hand washing and not get too close to them and be a-ok. I might have mentioned seven [or seventy times seven] times that I. Could. Not. Get. Sick. Micah even went so far as to accuse me of being a germophobe. Obviously I wasn't phobic enough.
On Easter Sunday, in addition to new charms for my charm bracelet and Reese's Pieces eggs (my favorite!), I also got a fever. And that's the gift that really keeps on giving. By Monday, my ears felt as if I had spent too much time practicing my swan dive at the pool. On Tuesday, the cough was beginning to get a little more persistent [read: annoying]. When I woke up on Wednesday, I thought that the only positive that could result from the looming storm system moving through was that surely the change in barometric pressure would cause my right ear to finally pop.
On a completely unrelated but quite serious side note: Please take a moment to remember and pray for all of the folks in the South who experienced far greater and serious loss than a temporary loss of three out of five senses on Wednesday.
By Wednesday night my voice was completely gone. Thursday morning, I finally did what most people would have done on oh Monday: I went to the doctor. I suspect that the Hippocratic Oath doesn't include doing no harm to one's self-esteem because upon examination of my ears, the doctor informed me that they "looked disgusting". Then he asked me if I could even hear anything at all. To which I replied "What?" No, not really! I couldn't reply with anything all because well, remember...no voice. He prescribed me with some meds and I went on my merry way to work because I no longer had a fever, I felt fine and he told me that I wasn't contagious unless I was sharing drinks with someone. Anyone who knows me in the slightest knows there's zilcho chance of that happening. [I have no clue why Micah thinks I'm a germophobe.]
Friday morning I woke up at 3:40 a.m. [just in time for the Royal Wedding coverage to begin!] No, I didn't plan on waking up at this time, it just happened. However, much to my dismay, I discovered that my eyes would not open without the assistance of a warm washcloth. Yep, you guessed it: Pink Eye. Really?!? Is this what Charlie Sheen means by winning? With the help of my new friend, hydrocodone cough syrup, I fell back to sleep until a more suitable hour, text messaged work that I would not be coming in on Friday, and did what any other girl in my condition would do: settle in for the SIX HOURS of Royal Wedding coverage that I had DVR'd.
In hindsight, the timing of my illness was quite impeccable because when else would I have been able to watch the entire event without feeling a little twinge of guilt that I could be using my time in a much more productive manner? There really is a silver lining to every cloud, now isn't there? I have also been saving tremendously on eye makeup this week, might I add. Now that it's Sunday, my dog has finally resigned to the fact that I may never speak to him again in any tone above a whisper (he was thoroughly confused at first), I'm still waiting for my right ear to open up, and I'm kind of used to the blurred peripheral vision that comes with wearing glasses instead of contacts.
I don't write this for pity or as a woe-is-me lament because truthfully, I prefer one big under the weather event every few years as opposed to a bunch of little ones with each new season. However, I am super bummed because I had to miss a bunch of fun stuff that I had planned for this weekend. Maybe just maybe though, I needed this speed bump to slow me down just a little bit to make me remember the things that are most important. And no, I'm not talking about things like the nuptials of William and Catherine. I've been reminded not to take what I consider to be the little things for granted. For example: instead of going through the drive thru at Chick-fil-A yesterday, I had to go in because there was no way that I could have communicated my order otherwise. As with most things, we never really know what we have until it's gone. What 80's hair band sang that sentiment best? My memory fails me. I am fortunate that I have access to good medicine to restore my health and this is just a temporary bug. I am fortunate that neither myself nor my family members were in the direct path of the storms on Wednesday. Indeed, every day that I live, I am blessed.
No comments:
Post a Comment