Pity, Party of One

I am so sick of being sick. I always get sick at this time of year, and it sucks.

This cold has hung on for a few days now, and I am really sick of it. I am sick of breaking a sweat just moving across the room — I am sweating just sitting still here in my chair. I am sick of blowing my nose, which is starting to get all raw and peeling. I am sick of my sinuses draining with that whistling, bubbling noise. I am sick of the bubbling and wheezing in my chest keeping me awake.

Being sick gets in the way of things that I want to get done. I have a lot of stuff to do, and I can’t do it while I am sweating and dizzy and coughing up a lung. I am getting behind in my housework. I have errands to run for the adoption paperwork. I was doing so well exercising each day. Now I have to just rest and recover, which I don’t do very well when I have these “to do” lists playing in my mind.

It used to be really bad when I was working. I just had a very hard time taking sick days. I always felt guilty for taking time off sick. I was the workhorse on my teams and things would not get done if I didn’t do them. And there was always this irrational fear of getting fired for being off sick too much. (As it turns out, I learned you can lose your job even when you are the most productive and reliable person on the job. So there you go.) Now that I am not working outside the home, taking a sick day means stuff does not get done, and I feel like I am not pulling my weight around here. When you’re not bringing in an income, guilt is a huge motivator.

Plus, being sick just magnifies everything else that makes me peevish. I missed going to see some musical theatre on Saturday because of my cold. It has been warm, early spring weather and I haven’t been able to go outside. And as I read about Angelina Jolie parachuting into Vietnam to adopt a child while foregoing all the usual wait times and paperwork, and I look over at my pile of stuff still to be done for our international adoption, I get peevish. And a little resentful.

Everything just seems to suck when you are sick.

BDH has been great though. I am the most impossible person to live with when I am sick, and he has been so tolerant of my irrational stubbornness, and very patient. He has been wonderful, doing the laundry for me, bringing me soup, making me sit and direct traffic while he cleans. Because of my asthma, if a cold settles in my lungs, even the slightest exertion like laughing or climbing the stairs leaves me breathless and panting and coughing until I gag, which is really frustrating, so BDH has just been cleaning around me, without complaint.

Even Opus stopped yelling at me this morning. She’s been ever so nice to me, talking so sweetly and pleasantly to me, not shrieking or hollering. It’s been nice and quiet for my headache.

And now, BDH said he thinks he’s coming down with this cold too. But he’s much more pragmatic about getting sick. He said, “That’s what happens when people live together… when we have a little one we are going to get everything going.”

Poor BDH. In a year’s time, when cold and flu season rolls around, he’s going to have to deal not only with a crabby big person, but a crabby little person too. But I am expecting this is the last year I will get to be “irrational sick woman”, and I will have to find a new superhero persona, one that is slightly less peevish and considerably higher functioning when sick.

I suppose that’s alright. This sick crabby person is getting a little tiresome anyway.