While I don't like sickness, I do enjoy being stubborn. I like to deny my illness and just keep chugging forward until the infectious beast within me decides that it has had enough of my foolishness.
This week, I could no longer tame that beast. I had been hacking up a lung for weeks and I continued to blame it on my asthma. With each puff of my inhaler, I waited for a reprieve but it never came. Then, as if I had been magically transported to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, the pressure within my head became so overwhelming that I could barely function and my fever made me feel hotter than an anaconda-infused strip show in the middle of the Amazon.
The time had come to give in.
Since it was the middle of the night and I couldn't go to a Doctor until morning, I decided to lay down in the middle of the shower and hope that the cool water would make me feel better. As I laid there, I slipped off into a dream-like state in which I envisioned myself basking in the pools of a hidden waterfall. I could hear the birds chirping around me as the verdant jungle grew untouched and somewhere above me, a plane was flying by carrying an assortment of all my favorite snack cakes, just waiting to drop them to me. You can imagine my disappointment, when I finally woke up and realized that I had actually been drooling on my arm and quietly crying for my Mama.
After surviving the night, I went to the Doctor's, was given some medication and told to rest for a couple of days. So, that's where you find me. I'm stuck in the house wearing more or less the same clothing for the past two days and an empty Kit Kat wrapper is staring at me from the distance as I wish that it could miraculous re-fill itself.
Do I feel better? Much.
Am I still looking to the skies for that plane carrying sugary goodness? Most definitely.