Blogging Sick

I do not  get easily  sick .   I could go without having a cold or flu for years. 

Starting yesterday, though, I have been sick  with a stuffy cold and an overall  weariness.  My husband insists I am love sick.  I contest that the opposite is true.  The fact is,  I am drowning in a sea of love, from which I am floundering; I bob every once in a while to catch my breath, and sink back again into the depths. 

What a waste of a day to be sick!  I could have spent it outside gardening.  Facebook had lately been a drag. I’ve finished a month long series of “The Good Wife” on demand overnight.  Emily Bronte’s much acclaimed classic  “Wuthering Heights” isn’t what I expected it to be. Frankly, it is quite disappointing, and depressing.  I am in that part where Catherine died.  What more interesting stuff is there left once the heroine dies in the middle of the story?  Heathcliff is no longer with his beloved Catherine.  No more romantic scenes and amorous exchanges. This was supposed to be one of the greatest classic love stories, much quoted about by folks, and yet  there  is, to me,  a dearth of romance I feel cheated out of my ten cents’ worth.  To me,  “Jane Eyre” was a more engaging and thoughtful read.

I wish for some hot, comforting soup.  Last night’s fish soup (tinola)  dinner was a delight after a long twelve hours’ work of taking care of sick people… like manually disempacting a very constipated 87 year old out of his fecal misery.  The smell was horrid.  Despite my stuffy nose.  The patient’s son and I were both retching from the odor of the poop I was poking out of the rectal recesses with one gloved finger. Chunks of them. Then again, digging  into a trio of huge, gaping abdominal and buttock  wounds on an obese lady and stuffing betadine soaked sponges into them, topping them off with heaps of more gauze and miles of tape. Then time after time plopping bedpan smack into the enormous bottom of another  lady and pouring out urine into the toilet in  an after spray of minute urine particles.  She in turn gave me a couple of  amazing  “flying mice” balloons and a nice heart tipped balloon sword for my son which I  thought was very cute except for my fear of taking germs to my son I would have brought them home for Matt to play with.  It stayed in my office, instead.  All in a day’s work.  Finished my shift in the midst of a multitude of symptoms -- a scratchy throat,  a stuffy head,  a runaway nose, interspersed with sneezing fits, stomach cramps and a general wretchedness.

Slept late last night. Despite my condition.  My husband decided he was in the mood for love and story telling till the wee hours. I’ve never seen him so verbose about his past.  The “shrink’s- office” type of verbosity and honesty so uncharacteristic of  him.  Reminiscing with me.  Ha-ha.  I suppose this is why I feel worse today. Thank you, red Zinfandel wine.

So goes the whiny and groany of a sick day.

Here’s to your health!