Wednesday, February 16, 2011
When I get sick - really sick - I experience what could best be described as primal fear. Amidst the aches and feverishness and malaise some part of me fears I'm undergoing something terrible and dangerous once again, something like chemotherapy. And I walk around trying to shake off the shadow, until I get better.
Yesterday I finally went to see my doctor, after having an upper respiratory illness for the past month. (Actually, I didn't get to see my doctor. My beloved internist broke his knee whilst on his roof cleaning the gutters, then re-broke it two weeks later and is having a second surgery this week. Be careful out there.) I got sent home with antibiotics and big-guns cough syrup, and I slept better last night than I have in weeks.
On the way to school this morning, blocks from school, Abbott threw up all over the car. He said, "It was the oatmeal." I recounted a time, as a little girl, when I went on a field trip to a circus. My lunch contained grapes and marshmallows, among other things. Back at school, I threw up, and I didn't eat grapes or marshmallows again for 20 or so years.
Do you know what I'm talking about?
We're all going to be fine, and the week is almost over.