When I was seven, I read a Noddy story written by Enid Blyton. Mr. Plod, the Toyland policeman, has to spend some time recovering in the hospital, and all the other toys go out of their way to make it easier for him – they bring him flowers, greeting cards and tools. I remember wishing to fall ill at least a little bit, so that I could have a fun experience like that.
Eleven years later, I’m here stuck with a cold that has rained down on me with all its ferocity and I’m like, um, no. I don’t want to be ill, nuh uh.
Apart from feeling like someone has placed a rock on my head and plugged my nostrils with some sort of cement, (and pretending to be high on cough syrup), I feel like a completely different person.
My nose seems to have decided to take upon itself the role of my feet and keeps running.
I don’t seem to have the energy to read even my favourite books. (!!) (I tried reading ‘The Hostile Hospital’ by Lemony Snicket. Wow, the irony! 🙂 I’ve been imitating Mr. Poe’s cough all day.)
Suddenly, a sandwich tastes like sawdust and vapor rub smells like heaven.
Now, laughing is indeed a synonym for coughing.
My singsong voice sounds like that of a wolf.
So, I’ve been taking my medicines and trying out home remedies for relief and wishing I hadn’t taken my nose for granted earlier.
The GOOD side – I get to have my favourite spicy food, and sleep off the day, hoping my lymphocytes keep calm and carry on trying to evict the rhinoviruses from my system.
I’m off to grab a cup of hot ginger tea. (Mind you, I can’t really taste it. :P)