Down, Out and Grateful

It all always begins with a sore throat...

24 hours ago, I told myself I’d simply wake up and that scratchy feeling would be gone. It hadn’t, and 24 hours later, I’ve got a full-blown cold (sneezing fits, coughing fits that attempt to dislodge major internal organs, general malaise and the occasional need to fight back tears) - just make sure you call it a ‘cold’ and not ‘the flu’. The latter is apparently far more serious of a condition and I’ve previously been yelled at for dramatically promoting a regular cold to a flu.

We all need to get sick a certain number of times within a 36-month span. Not only are there precious sick leave days to make use of, but there’s also the more significant reminder that our greatest asset is our health, and when it is taken away from us, the effects are rather disconcerting.

Whenever I get a cold, I am reminded of previous times I’ve been ill and what a massive relief it was to recover. Back in the summer of 2000 (just days after I finished primary school), I developed the mumps. My siblings were still studying/working and my parents were also yet to go on leave, so I was left to fend for myself at home. These were some of the most miserable days of my life.

I vividly (or not so vividly…) remember lying on the couch, staring at a light switch on the wall, and trying to keep it in focus – unfortunately, my head was swimming to such an extent that this was impossible.

I also remember making a cup of tea in several stages on one of these days. Filling up the kettle required putting my head down for a few minutes, as did opening the cupboard to grab a cup, as did brewing a teabag. Then again, I’m not sure why I made tea in the first place because moving any part of my mouth resulted in the most unbearable pain. There was also the trip to the doctor for my diagnosis before I knew for sure what was wrong – my dad virtually carried me into and out of the waiting room.

Those three weeks of being ill with the mumps and recovering just in time for Christmas lunch (thank heavens) were certainly some of my worst, but close behind are the stomach bugs that followed a few years after that. Is there anything quite as debilitating than the feeling of your intestines being tied tightly together into the most impossible knot? Not really.

One night, after refusing to acknowledge that at some point I would have to throw up, I finally attempted the 3m walk to the bathroom. I didn’t make it, and the passage outside my bedroom quickly filled up with about a quarter of my total body weight.

Yet, there’s something distinctly humbling about being down and out for a couple of days or weeks. It’s a reminder to not take for granted the gift of our good health. It’s a reminder to care for our bodies. It’s the realisation that all the motivation and power of mind in the world can’t overcome the limitations of an incapacitated body.

I don’t think any of us has woken up on that first, beautiful morning following a cold/flu without a renewed vigour to take on the day, go for a run, or actually savour the pasta that had hours earlier tasted like cardboard.

I don’t think that day is going to be tomorrow for me, but when it comes, I’ll be sure to take advantage of and appreciate my greatest asset – my generally good health.

The ability to run up and down a flight of stairs.

The energy to sit at my desk for eight hours and work.

The strength to take care of myself and my home unaided.

So Universe, if I promise to be more grateful, more often throughout the year, can we skip this cold/flu thing as a means to very effectively prove your point? Please? Okay. Thanks.