I have been sick in one way or another for about four weeks. My illni seem to have gone through four different stages, linked together by tentative three-day periods of semi-wellness and false hopes.
-An upset stomach in Chile begat:
-Modest flu-like symptoms between Christmas and New Years, which begat:
-Hardcore symptoms (hacking up green matter, fever, weakness, chills, headache, sort throat, malaise, etc. etc.) after New Years, which begat:
-My current cough and sore throat; sinuses alternating between freeflowing and plugged up beyond belief.
These periods of illness directly coincide with cross-continental flights, where the great unwashed masses cough openly into the stale economy class air and wipe their noses with the backs of their hands.
A floating germ factory, yes. An international overnight courier of disease.
In spite of a course of antibiotics and a daily cocktail of over-the-counter (folk) remedies, I still feel unwell. And the only thing worse than being sick is being sick and alone, which is what I am since I am now in Philadelphia waiting for this damn movie to start. Go Eagles.
I recognize that discussing one’s illnesses is about as interesting as discussing one’s dreams in public, but in the interest of keeping a blog I must write about what concerns me most, and what concerns me most is the rather existential notion that I will never be well again.
It seems to me that two hundred years ago people probably lived with a lot of things: poverty, sickness, short life spans, rotting teeth, etc. I wonder if there was more of a notion of playing through one’s pain back then, of just living with it. Now we take the opposite tack, wherein if one feels sad or lethargic or overly exuberant, he or she can find a chemical remedy and normalize quickly.
Being sick for so long alters your perspective on wellness in general. Will I ever be well again? What was it like to feel normal? To be young and have energy and to run without being winded? To sleep through the night without coughing one’s self awake?
A little dramatic perhaps, but it reminds me of a more theatrical time in my life, when I caught an illness in New Orleans, and so curled up with Proust, ate Madeleines, and pretended to be a Francophile until my good health resumed and I had no real reason to battle with his digressive narrative anymore.
That was the romantic angle, anyway. Now I just grumble.
3 comments:
You are writing these splendid little essays lately! I have had to come back to this post a couple of times to figure out an appropriate response. I find lately that illness also triggers melancholy--a weltschmerz located in the body which, all of a sudden, reminds me of its capabilities of sudden and precipitous decline. And being away from home cannot help. Hope you feel better soon.
I am now sick and have been sick for almost a week. I cannot blame you. But if I am sick for even a day I can't remember what it feels like to be well.
I can't breathe.
I hope you are better.
hoping you feel better E!!! I know the feeling of the lingering illness.
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