Sick as a Dog?


Generally, it takes me a day and a half to recognise or acknowledge that I am unwell.  I am that stubborn.  Or stupid, either way…because I DON’T GET SICK!  The last time I was sick, I drove the forty minutes into work, got out of the car, crossed the car park and then burst into tears because I realised I was too sick to be there and I had to drive back home.

In this instance, it took a day and a night of shivering and sweating, and that horrible aching muscle feeling and stinging skin to admit that I’m actually the most unwell that I’ve been in years.  I am as sick as a dog – although, in this house that would indicate that I hide under a chair 5 seconds before I vomit and then if nobody gets me out quick, I’m likely to eat that vomit, and 5 minutes later I’ll be tearing around the house again tormenting the cat. ‘Sick as a dog‘ works about as well as ‘sleeping like a baby‘…which back in the day in our family might mean a person who falls into an exhausted, teary, coma-like sleep 10 minutes before it’s time to leave to do school pick up.  Stupid idioms.

When I’m sick I am so much fun: cranky (can you tell?), restless and frustrated with myself because I often dream of having enforced time out in bed with books, movies and drugs at my disposal.  Am I allowed to admit that?  Instead, I end up feeling guilty for being unproductive and (as it’s the school holidays and my stand down time) that I’m losing time and opportunities…to do what – I couldn’t tell you.  The family tends to leave me quite alone…I can’t think why…or boss me around “Drink this!” “Eat this” “Watch this!” “Wake up!”….and inevitably I get the shits because all the things I can’t do: dishes, wiping the benches, washing clothes, cleaning up dog vomit, tend to just sit waiting for me to recover and do them.  Mongrels.  But this is not a ‘woe is me’ post, I don’t want your pity (I want my family’s!)…I’m only ranting, just amongst friends. OK?

Also, I can’t maintain my train of thought.

Really, it’s lucky I don’t get sick more often.  Unlike the dog, but he gets away with it because he’s cute. And he cleans up after himself.

How crazy are you when you’re sick?



About Alyson

I am a 45+ chick. I live in the country with 3 almost (apparently) adult children teenagers, 1 husband and many animals. Here's the thing: The black dog also hangs with me occasionally and, thank the baby cheeses, life is not perfect. That's OK, because I work hard to be a glass half-full person and I can't lie! I write to help my head, heart and humor...and I tell myself 'I've got this!'

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