The sickness....
This sickness had me in its grips yesterday, had me lying on the couch in agony thinking that this is it. My number is up, and the angels are going to start singing me home before I get to find out what happens on this year's Canadian Idol.
I woke up yesterday morning, after having gone to the hospital Wednesday night in search of health, hacking up a large quantity of nastiness that for sure was going to be the death of me. I can't stand grossness in any of its forms, and when other people do gross things like cough or hack or breathe near me, I sometimes have to leave the room and cry. When my body turns against me and begins to perform such disgusting functions as coughing, I feel the need to apologize to all those around me, including Copernicus and Dixie, because no one should ever be subjected to someone else's nast.
By midnight last night I was feverish again, hot and sweaty and strewn across the couch like a disgarded dust rag, one that the dogs had played tug-of-war with and the cat had thrown up on. My hair was a mass of long, brown, sweaty mat spread out like a halo around my head. The thing is, it was not like a halo at all, more like a billboard begging somebody, ANYBODY, to please contain it because the coughing and the writhing in pain had shaken it into a great number of knots and tangles.
I thought of going back to see the doctor at the hospital again, because surely those inhalers he prescribed to me the previous night should have alleviated SOME, at least, say, s FRACTION of my symptoms and they had not. But I thought to myself, no. I am TOUGH. I am COUNTRY. I am SICK, but I will recover, because that is what TOUGH, SICK, COUNTRY people do. We move on.
And then I went to bed and while I was lying in agony, coccooned into my duvet and considering an overdose on sedatives, I thought to myself: Why is being tough so heavily weighed in this society? WOULD IT BE SO WRONG FOR ME TO CRY AND BEG JESUS, MARY AND THE SAINTS TO MAKE ME BETTER?
[Common Cold, Sick, Agony, Pain, Cough]
I woke up yesterday morning, after having gone to the hospital Wednesday night in search of health, hacking up a large quantity of nastiness that for sure was going to be the death of me. I can't stand grossness in any of its forms, and when other people do gross things like cough or hack or breathe near me, I sometimes have to leave the room and cry. When my body turns against me and begins to perform such disgusting functions as coughing, I feel the need to apologize to all those around me, including Copernicus and Dixie, because no one should ever be subjected to someone else's nast.
By midnight last night I was feverish again, hot and sweaty and strewn across the couch like a disgarded dust rag, one that the dogs had played tug-of-war with and the cat had thrown up on. My hair was a mass of long, brown, sweaty mat spread out like a halo around my head. The thing is, it was not like a halo at all, more like a billboard begging somebody, ANYBODY, to please contain it because the coughing and the writhing in pain had shaken it into a great number of knots and tangles.
I thought of going back to see the doctor at the hospital again, because surely those inhalers he prescribed to me the previous night should have alleviated SOME, at least, say, s FRACTION of my symptoms and they had not. But I thought to myself, no. I am TOUGH. I am COUNTRY. I am SICK, but I will recover, because that is what TOUGH, SICK, COUNTRY people do. We move on.
And then I went to bed and while I was lying in agony, coccooned into my duvet and considering an overdose on sedatives, I thought to myself: Why is being tough so heavily weighed in this society? WOULD IT BE SO WRONG FOR ME TO CRY AND BEG JESUS, MARY AND THE SAINTS TO MAKE ME BETTER?
[Common Cold, Sick, Agony, Pain, Cough]
Labels: Sickness
posted by Amanda at 12:23
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