I’ve been sick for a few weeks now, but the past few days took the cake.
On top of the cold I caught from Matt ages ago, it seems, I met up with a young child on Saturday who seems to have passed on his rotavirus. Not to be too gross, but it made for a few unpleasant trips to the bathroom for me on Monday night, accompanied by clutching the toilet and weak moaning about how awful it is to vomit when one is an adult. (Matt says it sucks for kids too.)
So for the past day or so, I’ve been hacking and coughing, drinking LOTS of fluids (I was not hungry at all), blowing my nose, sleeping on the couch, taking my temperature now and then, and feeling fairly miserable.
It’s amazing how being ill can sap the joy out of living. That sounds really melodramatic, but even with a cold and a stomach bug, I sat on the couch feeling so low-energy that everything was depressing. I did not want to be here, or do anything; could hardly imagine the future; could not imagine what it felt like to be well in the past and whether I would be well again.
And then today I turned the corner — by this afternoon I was fairly energetic. By this evening, I felt downright excited at the prospect of mashed potatoes and chicken for dinner. I was practically giddy, even as I was blowing my nose and washing my hands *again* with alcohol-based disinfectant.
So for just a moment, I am imagining how it feels to be ill all the time, and with something far worse than a cold.
To cough (People’s Dictionary): http://folkets-lexikon.csc.kth.se/folkets/folkets.en.html#lookup&cough&0