I usually feel much better than I do today.
My physical health is remarkably good. Aside from the occasional flirtation with vertigo, which I had very badly once, followed by a few very minor recurrences, I travel through life feeling fit, able, lucky – truly blessed, even – to have journeyed through the decades and until this last one, spent so little thought on my health. It wasn’t until I was in my forties that I started to exercise, pay any attention (albeit sporadic) to what I was eating, and for many of those years, I smoked.
Now, I exercise, watch what I eat (although sometimes what I am watching is CLEARLY something I ought NOT be eating), no longer smoke, and drink in moderation – well, mostly in moderation.
So, it came as a surprise to me when all of a sudden, yesterday afternoon, I began to feel ill. I live with people who are ill not infrequently. There are lots of colds, flus, stomach issues, headaches, that sort of thing, and I, almost never, am bothered with anything at all. Since about 3:30 yesterday however, my stomach is all in an uproar. I thought, at first, perhaps it was something I’d eaten. However, soon enough that symptom was accompanied by the feeling that someone had been beating me about the knees and wrists and lower back. It was (and is, still) unpleasant to move and the nausea comes in waves. I’ve a headache – not awful – just enough to make reading unpleasant. I am exhausted. And I’m having the chills.
So, I am drinking as much water as I can. But that makes me feel not so great and requires lots of trips up and down the steps to the bathroom. And diet ginger ale. And mint tea. And I’ve had to have coffee – though it is nauseating, but to NOT have coffee will make me even sicker; this I know from experience. I am a caffeine FIEND and without it, it is but a matter of hours before my head starts to pound with such vociferous intensity, I am unable to open my eyes.
So, in short, I feel beaten up. That’s the best explanation, as if I’ve been tossed violently and left with internal bruising. This. combined with the mean reds – Tennessee as Blanche mood that took me over a few days ago, is making for a nasty, downbeat, beaten up Monday.
And worse, writing this was a gargantuan effort. I managed, but, rough. And when I feel like this, reading is too much like the fevered dreams I was having all night. I kept waking – half-waking – convinced that if I didn’t get up and do something, there would be violence in Sochi for which I was responsible. I kept trying to wake myself up enough to say, “Charlie, this is a fever – go back to sleep – it’s not really true.” But, didn’t do much good . . .
So, I can’t read. I can’t eat. I can’t much move at the moment. Guess I’ll wait it out.
But, like I said, I am almost never ill, so, no biggie. This too shall pass.