Thursday, April 30

Being sick sucks

I hate being sick. More than anything, it sucks unmentionable donkey parts. It was bad enough I had being suffering from a pulled muscle in my back, curbing aikido- my only real physical activity, now this. I woke up this Sunday feeling a bit off. I starting coughing and it got worse, real fast. By Monday it was apparent it was allergy time and full blown Bronchitis on top of it. The coughing became painful, wracking and constant.

I remember my mom's best advice: if symptoms persist or get worse after three days, see a doctor.So Thursday morning, after a night of fitful codeine induced "sleep" I dragged myself to the doctor who told me what I already knew, allergy plus bronchitis makes Alisa very , very miserable, vunerable and no damn good to anyone, least of all herself. Fine give me the goddamn prescription and let me slink back home old man.

Which reminds me that I'm not the only one miserable when I'm sick. Last night as I checked my temperture for the 6th time -hovering around 100 I informed my housemate that when it hits 102 he should get me to Urgent Care.

'Did you take aspirin?" he asked.

"I took advil." I corrected.

'Did you take aspirin?" he repeated peevishly. Too tired to argue I shook my head. He went to get some. I knew all we had was aspirin with codeine which I didn't think was needed and that shit is wicked. It just hammers me.

He returns with three tablets and water. I'm not taking three, I take two and he also offers me a glass of orange juice when I inform him that one doesn't do that because the citric acid interferes with the acid in aspirin.

"Since when?" he reallys annoying me now.

"It's common knowledge." I tell him with matching annoyance. He switches wit with a glass of apple juice as I explain that my throat is too sore to handle the tartness of the orange juice anyway.

"The drink plenty of fluids and stop talking." he is practically shoving the juice into my hands.

"God you are the worst nurse in the world. " I mutter as I head back to my comfy chair. Mr. warm and fuzzy he is not.

Comfort and tender loving care is what I need. What I need is someone to take care of me like Florence Nightingale instead of Oscar the grouch.

Why do I put up with this shit? What is point of being sick. Nothing ever comes of it except that for a month afterwards I'm mighty glad I'm not sick. I'm sure there's some cosmic lesson here but I'm not buying it. All I know is that another week is shot and I got nothing done as I sit hacking and my head feels like it's going to explode from the pressure in my sinuses

Did mention how I hate being sick? The good news is my back isn't sore anymore. Seems all that sitting around and complete rest did the trick. Now I think I'll take a shower, I probably reek as well.

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