I woke up feeling euphoric and light-headed with a squeezing pain in my chest.
‘How interesting,’ I thought. ‘Perhaps I am dying.’
Then I tried to sit up and began coughing and realised with great trepidation that I was not having a blissful deathbed moment but that I was going to live and endure more bronchitis.
My housemate came into the room, fit as a fiddle and rosy-cheeked.
‘I wonder if you have pneumonia, ‘ she said. ‘Remember that Eben is arriving some time this morning with a freshly killed goose and you must haggle over the price with him. And then take care of the goose. Don’t forget to singe the feathers you can’t pluck. And drain excess blood, cut offf fatty bits, the whole tootie.’
‘I don’t feel up to dealing with a freshly killed feathered goose,’ I whimpered.
‘Anyone would think you lived in fat-cat America,’ said Una nastily. ‘You are in Africa now and we need to be able to feed 30 people with TB for lunch next week. Do your green apple stuffing.’
In my next life I am going to come back as somebody who just goes into the supermarket and buys pre-packaged and shrinkwrapped factory-farmed meat crammed with carcinogens. Or maybe not.
And I also need to crawl into the kitchen and bake dog biscuits for my greedy puppies. They are easily bribed to behave well while I am in bed sick, but I am running out of biscuits and want to bake biscuits or them that are cheaper and more nutritious than the expensive bone-shaped things we buy.
But right now I am lying in bed sick and spluttering and wondering how on earth I coped with decades of stomach-turning alcoholism when I can’t deal with a touch of bronchitis. I could call my neighbour to help with the duck but if I clean the feathers of a young goose I can stuff a crewel-embroidered silk pillow for my study. And I do want to try my green apple stuffing and see if a fine fat goose will fit into my favourite roasting dish,
For so many years I turned my back on life. Now I cannot bear to waste a minute of it.
i am a total sissy with illness now. when drinking i used to puke the morning after, now I HATE!!!! puking. can’t bear it..
this too shall pass..
oh well. hope you get better soon
As for me when I used to get bronchitis, it never improved till I took antibiotics.
I’ve never tried just “weathering” it. Well, I don’t get respiratory infections anymore (knock on wood) so hopefully I’ll never have to try it.
God bless and I hope you are well soon.
Prayer Girl
Alcohol came before anything and I would do anything to get it. Being sick or feeling like death didn’t matter, all I needed was that drink to make it all go away–again. Vicious cycle.
“For so many years I turned my back on life. Now I cannot bear to waste a minute of it.”
A ‘newbie’ (well, one year sober!) told me yesterday a revelation he’d been given: “Life is good. Why miss it?” Fancy that!
In reading the comments above, I’m struck with certain meaningful words:
“vicious cycle”; “weathering it”; “now I HATE!!! puking”. Out of topic, I’ll add my favorites, “No Matter What” (NMW)….
Mary your typing ‘sounds’ better. Hope you are feeling better also! When you start talking about pots and pans and a cookstove–watch out, world. She’s Bach!
Oh, so sorry. I’m one to weather it out also, but it certainly takes LONGER that way!
So sorry you’re feeling poorly! Be better soon.