Monday, April 4, 2011

Why I Was Gone

The funny thing about getting sick...for those of us who have very little practice at it...is knowing when "sick" is "sick enough" to stop and take it easy. I don't and therefore I didn't. I tried to remember the last time I went to a doctor for any reason. Eight years ago? Ten? Perhaps even longer than that. I think it was the time I tried to feed a feral cat which mistook my finger for a nice piece of liverwurst. Had it been a raccoon, I would have had to go through the series of rabies shots, but there weren't any reports of rabid cats going around so the doctor figured I was safe in that respect. Since a cat's saliva is pretty toxic stuff, however, I did need an antibiotic regimen. The bite hurt like the dickens, and continued to hurt long after it healed. I still have a scar on that finger. I think that was my last visit to a doctor.

We were never coddled much as children when we were sick. We were expected to rise above such trifling matters as colds and sniffles and broken arms. When Pestilence came knocking, we simply refused to answer the door. It is amazing how well that philopshy works. Toughing it out is a dominating trait on both the maternal and paternal branches of my family tree. Strength was as much admired as being able to play the piano or perform complex math problems. My Dad and his family spent a lot of time talking about being strong. Tough, even. As if to prove that particular point, my Uncle Joe showed up for Thanksgiving dinner one year when I was around 7. My mother had set the table with her best dishes, and she wore her prettiest dimity apron as she proudly carried the turkey, brown and glistening, to the head of the table, where my Dad sat with carving knife in one hand and sharpening steel in the other. Before us were bowls and platters of potatoes, dressing, gravy, creamed onions, spinach souffle...you name it...the delicious smells wafting across the lace table cloth. Nevertheless, Uncle Joe asked only for horseradish... which he ate directly from the jar...with a spoon. "It makes you strong like bull," he announced to the three small children who starred saucer-eyed at him. It was the most memorable Thanksgiving of my entire life.

So, together with the stress of a very large trial, and some significant maintenance on the house that needed completion, and my in-bred ability to ignore anything short of the major malfunction of a vital organ, I ignored the signs that I was getting sick, had gotten sick, and would continue to be sick unless I broke from family tradition and actually sought medical treatment. It's a good thing I did, I guess, since willing myself well didn't seem to be working. The two weeks I dragged myself into work because I was far too "busy" not to tackle my desk were a false economy; I eventually had to stay home to recuperate at least that long, so I got behind anyway. Where is the justice in that, I ask? A respiratory infection (but short of pneumonia) which started out as a simple allergic reaction to pine pollen was the final diagnosis. I am afraid Uncle Joe is spinning in his grave. I can almost hear the incredulity, "Pollen got you, you say? P-o-l-l-e-n!?"

Time for redemption, it seems. Pass the horseradish, please.

9 comments:

  1. You sound SO like my husband. Last year he got the really nasty flu-cold that was going about, decided he could ignore it and ended up with antibiotics for a chest infection. I had NEVER seen him take an antibiotic before, and we've been together 23 years.... So, I sympathise, admire your toughness, and feel relieved that what you have got may be nasty but it's self-limiting; you'll be better with some rest and recuperation. Read some good books! I always find that immensely therapeutic. And do take the very best care of yourself.

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  2. Look, take care of yourself. I had to take early retirement because I continued to push myself past my body's limits until the point where it started closing down on me. I was seriously ill for a year and now, five years on, still and always will, have to pick my way through life with great care. No job is worth it.

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  3. Sickness is our body's way of telling us: sleep. read. look at the garden.

    Take care of yourself.

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  4. I'm so sorry you've been ill . . . glad you're taking care of yourself now, though. I love the horseradish anecdote, sounds like something my grandfather would do (although he'd then go on to tackle the rest of the feast :).

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  5. Sorry to hear you've been ill. I am very glad you have recovered as I missed you. As someone who sufferes from seasonal allergies, I have great respect for the power of pollen. It is the chink in my otherwise stoic to feeling unwell armor. Love the Thanksgiving story!

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  6. Oh, Grad, what a shame! I am a not-going-to the-doctor sort of person, too, but you are teaching me a lesson. I will go if I am sick. (Fortunately, I don't ever seem to be sick.) I hope you got lots of reading done while you were resting.....

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  7. Hope you are feeling better now. I once got bitten by our cat and it was the most painful thing ever - I do sympathise!

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  8. Dear Grad, I missed you but thought you were simply overworking yourself; sorry to hear you were sick. Happy to hear you took the needed rest. My family must be somehow related to yours, because my Mom (a physical therapist by training) was not one for coddling (or mollycoddling). Therefore, toughing it out is what I do. I hope you at least got some reading in!

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  9. Oh nooooooo - my Graddikins has been unwell and I have been completely ignorant and faithless!!! HORRORS. I am a big believer in trotting to the doc - why on earth not?! I don't make a habit of it, but I do go if I feel something isn't right. My inlaws are more like you, toughing it out, but to the point of outright stupidity sometimes, and it drives me insane. Such a false economy. My dear one, get well, take care, and let's write each other a nice soothing missive when opportunity next knocks. xxx

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