Pain
The haunting simplicity of Alexis' post about being alone as a familiar pattern keeps coming back to me.
In particular, it makes me think again and again of a Really Bad Day that I had last year, when I had to go to the doctor because I couldn't hear properly out of both of my ears, and how the isolation that the combination of being sick, being still recently broken-up-with, and being unable to hear people just kicked me when I was down. Repeatedly.
And even though I'm not in that state any longer--though I talk about break-ups ad naseum still, the sting isn't quite the same these days--being sick makes me feel the most alone. I suppose it makes sense: At a time when it's most apparent that one needs other people, one feels the lack of others. On the other hand, I did live through that day, and other days.
Speaking of which: Got food poisoning Monday night. The sad thing is, it's almost undoubtedly from my favorite taqueria, which I go to at least once a week. Or, whichI went to once a week. No burritos for me for a while, I think. Likely what happened is somehow some shrimp got into my veggie burrito or something--I'm allergic to shrimp in that food poisoning sort of way--but regardless of the reasons, I'll not be going back for a while. So Monday night was horrible. Up all night puking, dry-heaving, cold-sweating. And Tuesday wasn't much better. Stayed home from work. Got up just a few times to get some water, some graham crackers, and eventually, in my big triumph of the day, some rice. Wanted some soda water or 7-up or something, but didn't have the strength to make it to the corner store. This morning, rode to work veeeeerrrrrrrry slowly. I'm running at about 25% I think. Brain is Slow.
The funny thing about the whole lonely-while-sick thing is this: I wouldn't have wanted anybody there, really. Especially not on Monday night. I'm a very bad patient in that regard. But somebody who loves me to stop by with some juice or bubbly drink--that would have been very, very nice. And that's one of the things about having an intimate romantic relationship; if you talk every day, then at least somebody knows it when you're out for the day. Why is that comforting? I'm not sure, but it is.
Filed under:Health
The haunting simplicity of Alexis' post about being alone as a familiar pattern keeps coming back to me.
In particular, it makes me think again and again of a Really Bad Day that I had last year, when I had to go to the doctor because I couldn't hear properly out of both of my ears, and how the isolation that the combination of being sick, being still recently broken-up-with, and being unable to hear people just kicked me when I was down. Repeatedly.
And even though I'm not in that state any longer--though I talk about break-ups ad naseum still, the sting isn't quite the same these days--being sick makes me feel the most alone. I suppose it makes sense: At a time when it's most apparent that one needs other people, one feels the lack of others. On the other hand, I did live through that day, and other days.
Speaking of which: Got food poisoning Monday night. The sad thing is, it's almost undoubtedly from my favorite taqueria, which I go to at least once a week. Or, whichI went to once a week. No burritos for me for a while, I think. Likely what happened is somehow some shrimp got into my veggie burrito or something--I'm allergic to shrimp in that food poisoning sort of way--but regardless of the reasons, I'll not be going back for a while. So Monday night was horrible. Up all night puking, dry-heaving, cold-sweating. And Tuesday wasn't much better. Stayed home from work. Got up just a few times to get some water, some graham crackers, and eventually, in my big triumph of the day, some rice. Wanted some soda water or 7-up or something, but didn't have the strength to make it to the corner store. This morning, rode to work veeeeerrrrrrrry slowly. I'm running at about 25% I think. Brain is Slow.
The funny thing about the whole lonely-while-sick thing is this: I wouldn't have wanted anybody there, really. Especially not on Monday night. I'm a very bad patient in that regard. But somebody who loves me to stop by with some juice or bubbly drink--that would have been very, very nice. And that's one of the things about having an intimate romantic relationship; if you talk every day, then at least somebody knows it when you're out for the day. Why is that comforting? I'm not sure, but it is.
Filed under:Health
posted by Jeff Pollet at 7:47 AM
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