Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again
Oh, these little earthquakes
Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces
~ Tori Amos
Last week I finished a course of preventive antibiotics, which I started just before Christmas when I developed bronchitis. Apparently my lungs are inflamed enough that a) I’ll get just about every bug that goes around and b) it’ll become something bigger and more horrible than whatever it was outside of my body. Yeah, I’m just that special.
Last night my throat felt a little sore, but I shrugged it off. This morning, the coughing and the phlegm started.
I’m getting sick again.
But this post isn’t about complaining. It’s more about…explaining.
See, I want you to understand that I’m not a hypochondriac. Perhaps you don’t even think I am, but that’s my perception of how you must view me. After all, who else would, after one day of illness, jump to the alarming conclusion that she must have pneumonia again? It sounds pretty crazy, right?
But my body? It’s kind of crazy. Remember that whole “it’s a migraine oh wait no it isn’t it’s a blood clot whoops good thing you didn’t die” episode? Yeah. That’s not normal. Imagine life after that—what happens when you get a migraine and it’s really just a migraine? Do you assume it’s a migraine? Hell no! You think you’re going to die because that’s what happened last time.
A headache, a cold…they’re more than just a bump in the road. They’re little earthquakes in my carefully constructed world, and I never know which earthquake will bring the whole thing crashing down.
So perhaps you can understand when I start having coughing episodes and difficulty breathing, I don’t assume it’s a simple cold. I’ve lost that ability, and it’s a massive bummer. I have zero desire to be the person who rushes to the doctor at the drop of a hat, and yet when I call the doctor for refills on my cough medication, I get the reminder, “Don’t put off coming in to see if antibiotics are appropriate.”
Bah. Like I have that kind of money. Or time. Or even the desire to drag my kids over to the doctor’s office.
Oh, wait. I said this wasn’t a complaining post. Apparently I lied. Well, it’s my blog, and I’ll lie if I want to. I’ll also end sentences with prepositions if I want to. Neener, neener.
I have a feeling none of this made sense, which is too bad, because in my head? It was gloriously eloquent and you all understood and nodded vigorously in agreement. Do me a favor and humor me, won’t you? That’s right. Appease the crazy sick hypochondriac, dammit. (Wow—that was redundant, yet paradoxical. Impressive, me!)
Now back away from the computer slowly…