It’s no secret that I’m not very good at being ill. I actually think this is because I don’t get ill very often. It’s normally a once (maybe twice) a year event, and so unfortunately I don’t handle it very well.
If you could all take a moment to visualise me now. I’m sat here up to my ears in used tissues. I am probably single handedly responsible for the destruction of a mile wide section of the rainforest, which has been used to keep me well stocked in mansize Ultrabalm tissues. Over the course of the day, the whole world, has literally fallen out of my nose. Seriously, on one blow I swear to God I evicted a small family of Armenians and a Whirlpool washing machine (circa 1994) from my nasal cavities...I could have been mistaken, obviously...I mean it’s not like I spent ages dissecting the contents in the manner of Gillian McKeith or anything weird like that...it’s just that’s what it looked like!
I have been dosed up on max strength cold and flu capsules, throat sprays, mucus friendly cough mixtures (to aid a productive cough, I’ll have you know!) and lemon flavoured menthol drinks since yesterday. Quite frankly, I’m smacked off my tits on cold remedies and I’m not 100% sure I should be taking them all with the glass of red wine that I’m currently enjoying...but I like to fly by the seat of my pants, so I’m gonna roll with it.
How come some people can handle being poorly better than others? Some people deal with flu like it’s a walk in the park...me...I’m like a man with man-flu. I’m convinced I’m actually about to shuffle off this mortal coil. It’s not just because I’m a drama queen (which I am a little, I’ll admit) but genuinely, because I don’t get ill very often it feels like I’m dying. God only knows what I’d be like with something like child birth. My problem is though, is that I’m not at all gracious about being poorly. I complain mercilessly about it, and I know that I sound like a whiney cow, but if I don’t verbalise how miserable I feel, I’m likely to just curl up in a corner and sob to myself...which on the whole would be far more disconcerting for my work colleagues I’m sure!
The only person (sort of) that seems to want to give me sympathy in my time of need however, is the pooch. Reliable as always he has stationed himself at my side, since this rotten lurgey first set in. He dutifully fusses around me when I’m struggling with a coughing fit...which basically just means when I start coughing he sits up, cocks his head to one side and looks at me in a worried manner, as if to say;
“Ooh ‘eck mum....that doesn’t sound right!”
Understandably everyone else feels I should really just be getting on with it! I get it...I’m a disgrace to my sex, I should be able to handle illness better than this...But the way I see it...hopefully one day, I’ll have kids of my own, who will get poorly and need looking after, and so I won’t be able to be this self indulgent. Until then, I plan to let everyone know when I’m not feeling 100%...and maybe (just maybe), someone might feel inclined to look after me a little....someone other than the pooch that is!
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