Falling ill

When I am well, I take my health for granted. I forget about the aches, lethargy and depression that beset me every time I go under. I rush about my days as if I were invincible and eventually illness strikes as if from nowhere.

Two long weeks ago, I visited my daughter in Canberra. She mentioned she was ‘snuffly’ but forged on in the way her mother always did. By the next day she was much worse and by the time I left, she was bedridden. I now wish I had set a better example when she was younger.

It had occurred to me that I might have picked up the bug, but I put it out of my mind. After all, I was feeling fine. Did I slow down or take better care? Hardly! I kept running until I felt that rug pulled from under me. Predictably, I landed with a thud.

The first few days were a guessing game. Covid? Flu? A cold? After a process of elimination, it turned out to be nothing more than an ordinary common cold. Except that there was nothing ordinary about it. I coughed for nights on end, hardly slept and my energy levels were depleted. It went on for days and more days, then a week and now I’m three days shy of a fortnight.

What is fascinating is how quickly it affected my mood. I’m usually all smiles, cheeky, irreverent, and able to find humour in most situations. I consider myself buoyant. Within a few short days, I could feel myself sink. Then I was struggling to stay afloat. Dark thoughts descended and seemed to pin me to the bed. Although I knew it otherwise, it felt as if I would never get better. I thought about people with serious illnesses who spent years plagued by pain and I wondered how they ever found the tenacity to go on. Would I ever find my inner strength, or would I go under? I hope I’m never put to the test.

Yesterday, I finally rounded the corner. I had energy to complete some simple tasks, my mood lifted, and I found beauty at my doorstep – a purple rose in bloom, a parrot in the yard, a gleaming shaft of light. Slowly, the fog lifted and my body has fought off the intruder.