I’ve been mostly bed-ridden for the last couple of days, wheezing my way through a nasty chest cold that’s thrown me for a loop. Miraculously, though, my giant-sized tonsils haven’t gotten in on the act they’re usually the first line of defense to crumble in the face of random germs. As a matter of fact, my tonsils enormous, oversensitive, and a lifelong problem aren’t the only part of my immune system that have been reinforced by modern medicine during the last few years.
Ironically, the last few years of having an incurable disease have been the healthiest of my life. I’ve always been on the sickly side, plagued by minor ailments and inconveniences as long as I can remember. The frequency and severity of those various bugs really skyrocketed during the years between my infection and my diagnosis. A few years of treatment, though, and I seem to be as hardy as anyone else. (Furiously knocking wood as I type that.) I’m also much less stoic about getting sick.
When you sniffle and shrug off sore throats and stuffy sinuses all the time, you get in the habit of ignoring it all. No big deal, just more of the same ol’-same ol’. When you feel alright most of the time, though, even a little wheezing and wooziness seem like a huge deal. I just hope that if the situation ever demands that old habit of stoicism that I still have it in me. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to worry about taking a turn for the worse, but who knows? (The not knowing is the best part, after all.)
I’ll just keep counting my blessings, and maybe I’ll lie down for a nap. I’m feeling a bit dizzy, I’m afraid. But that’s all.
