“Gary made me a broth. Which is just soup but its called broth if you’re ill for some reason.”
– Miranda
It starts with a sore throat.
“If I ignore it, it’ll go away. It won’t even notice me. It’ll forget about being anything more. I’m just tired, that’s what it is.”
It goes on to be an even sorer throat.
Out comes the hot lemon!
“You will not become more. I shall exterminate any thoughts of grandous germy-ness that you have. You will not….”
Sneezing (I never sneeze unless the sun is in my eyes, which happens quite a lot with the low winter sun up here..)
Sniffing (Urgh, don’t you hate sniffers. It drives me mad. Even me doing it annoys me. A couple of tissues wedged firmly up each nostril sorts that out.)
Coughing. Coughing so much that you don’t know if your stomach is sore from the work outs that you have been doing in that desperate January effort to get fit or from the constant coughing up of a lung.
Blowing your nose ALL THE TIME, is there an end to the snot? The gross bit being (if you are of a sensitive nature, don’t read the next part) gunk coming out of your eyes. Its just not nice.
Oh, and one of my favourites (as you are never sure when this one may happen) the unsuspecting ear pop. Ah! You didn’t even realise they were blocked did you? Tadah! You can hear again.
Thing is, everything goes wrong when you are ill. You also become someone else. This wet lettuce character that flops about. The type of person who can no longer get out of bed, the one that slides out and then crawls everywhere else from there. The person that walks to the fridge, opens it and stares at all the food that is in there (because there is food in there) and is such a wet lettuce that they can’t find anything to eat.
The well version of you would shake the poorly one and go,
“Get a grip! Look at all that food there, just cook some!!!”
But the poorly you, would look back through gunky eyes, having just blown their nose and say,
“But there are no biscuits.”
Poorly you lives off cans of soup from the cupboard, the ones that you really aren’t sure how long they have been there. But you don’t care, you want soup. Even if it does taste a bit funky, but that doesn’t matter because, hey, you can’t taste properly anyway!
The poorly you is the one that when your flatmate gets home and says,
“I’ll cook dinner.”
goes….
“OK”
THAT’S when you know, you are really not well.
Note: Thank you for Oscar-Hugo for demonstrating his wonderful modelling skills.
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