Let me start by saying I don’t feel well. I’m sick. Not an on-my-deathbed kind of sick. No fever, wheezing, vomiting or runny nose. No oily discharge. Just an overall run-down, yucky with a dose of nauseau, dizziness and occasional hot then cold kind of sick.
The problem is, I’m really bad at being sick.
Let me rephrase that: I suck at it. I whine. I sigh. I get angry at my state of un-wellness and anyone unlucky enough to cross my path. I over-analyze how I might have ended up this way: Could it be the fact that we started using our water softener again after a couple of years of not using it at all? Is my body reacting to the sudden intake of softener salt and who knows what other chemicals? Was there a settlement of goop at the bottom of the softener that is now making its way into our drinking supply, poisoning me slowly? Yet why just me? My husband, son and two cats are feeling just fine. Other times I’m under the weather, I wonder if I ate a tainted egg or injested a food item that had long passed its expiration date. My husband will kid around and say, “It must be brain cancer.”
It’s never good enough to accept that somehow, somewhere I picked up a germ and its having its way with me.
I was raised in a household where sickness was frowned upon because of our religion and, although I argued against the many discrepancies in this religion (no belief in doctors but yet dentists and eye doctors were acceptable. don’t ask.), some of its teachings must be etched deep into the membranes of my subconsciousness.
Side note: I have absolutely no patience or tolerance for my husband when he’s sick. Fortunately, I have some nurturing cells that stowed away in my heart from the time I played with dolls. These I save up for my son. And cats.
This time around, I’m lucky to have the night sweats (a big thank you shout-out to my reliable friend, perimenopause) to make things even worse, making it difficult to sleep and heightening my overall malaise which, inevitably, settles in anytime I feel anything less than 105% of my normal self.
Sickness shows us what we are. ~ Latin Proverb
Sitting here in my living room, putting myself on trial for not getting better fast enough, I suddenly realized something. There can be a positive side to being sick. In fact, I was able to come up with 7 reasons why being sick can be good.
- I don’t have to fold laundry, grocery shop or participate in other overly taxing chores. This is only a plus when my hubby is around to take care of it so I don’t have to get angry at the sight of things undone and the fact I’m unable to do anything about it. PS. Yes, to me, laundry is taxing. I’m a poor folder and my dry hands snag on fabric making it an annoying endeavor. Taxing.
- I have extra time to read for enjoyment. That means no politics, environmental issues or social injustice reading. Just inspiring, motivating or funny articles.
- I can goof around on the internet, indulging myself in pinterest, empire avenue, twitter and facebook with minimal guilt.
- I get to watch our cats stalk the birds that frolick and search for food in the protective bushes outside our front window. They pounce, stopping just short of the glass. No matter how I feel, this makes me smile.
- I’m forced to take a step back, slowing down to realize the many things I have to be grateful for in life.
- I don’t get
asedgy about my hubby and son not doing what they “should” be doing. They’re happier for it. A win-win.
- My son happily offers me his ice cream and left-over Halloween candy (yes, 3 months later he still has 12 pieces left) to help me feel better.
- I have a new subject (being sick) to write about with the downtime to write it.
- In reality, I’m very healthy.
So that’s 9 reasons, but 7 is my favorite number so I went with that.
Regardless of all the upsides of being sick, I plan to feel better tomorrow.
Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have. ~Edward Munch
Photo by Pink Bikini via flickr.com.