October 22, 2021
I am sooo lucky. I never get sick. Well, hardly ever. But I did this past week. Please remember that I am no doctor, but I believe I had ‘just a touch’ of something because it seems at work we have been passing around the proverbial ‘bug’.
(Did I mention how fortunate I am?)
I stayed home from work. The day before, nearing the end of my workday, I could feel my head swim. Clarity of thought seemed to take a backseat to constant thoughts of wondering if I would indeed throw-up or pass out. I began to sweat. My coordination declined until I thought it best to begin packing my bags to go home.
I left work on time. (Gasp!) And I hardly ever do that. I just don’t.
I stopped to buy a nice hamburger for supper, grabbed a Diet Coke, then drove home sucking the salt off French Fries.
Once home, I devoured the burger, turned on the football game, then proceeded to sleep for twelve hours. (Again, something I never do). So my first prescription when feeling a bit under the weather is sleep.
Waking up the next morning, my body ached as though I had lifted weights all day. My stomach still churned.
I called work. I would not be in. While I thought about Covid, I did not exhibit any symptoms which I had come to associate with the virus. But in the heat of the moment, I must admit I grew scared that I could be infected.
I drank liquids, grabbed more blankets, then turned on a retro sitcom station. I fell asleep mid morning to the lulling conversations of Mary, Lucy, Dick and Buffy. Off and on, I would awaken, then fall asleep.
Not until early afternoon, did I sit to look out the windows at the day. The trees seemed to flicker with gold and browns. It looked like a Klimt painting.
Snuggling further into my mound of woolen blankets, my attention rested in the sunlit leaves. “I have attention! I must be better!” I reasoned. I had to take a photo. And I had to go outside.
I was definitely feeling better.
I brewed weak coffee knowing full well that tea would have been a better choice. But the warmth of coffee and milk, slightly sweetened and slightly spiced with cinnamon, seemed to be appealing.
I wrote, just for a bit. Then I slept again. My dog and cat alternated positions with me on the couch.
My appetite returned early evening along with a reminder of my mother’s advice. It seemed as though I could not get enough of canned chicken noodle soup. The smell seemed to ease any tummy flips and it’s warm, salty taste soothed as well.
I grabbed my weak coffee, one more bowl of soup and another piece of my mother’s advice: the newspaper. I had saved the last Sunday paper. My mother is a staunch believer in keeping updated with the world. She loves her newspapers.
And I always save newspaper reading as an activity for vacations. My recovering sick self promised – no, vowed – that I must change that practice. My new habit is reading a daily paper.
And sleep. No apologies, no regrets.
Okay, and maybe good doses of retro sitcoms, chicken noodle soup, and watching leaves in the sunlight.
Lesson learned (hopefully): Give yourself some good, easy “medicine” while that is all it needs. I count myself incredibly lucky…
Sleep. Fluids. Soup. Sleep. Fluids. Engage your mind…
Much love, Luv.