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]