I’m generally blessed with good health. Being diligent about exercise, avoiding smoking, drinking red wine instead of other stuff, staying away from fried foods and trying to keep some sort of balance in my life has largely worked. The flus and colds usually pass me by. Until last week.
One unhappy consequence of good health is that I’m an overachiever when I do get sick. Such is the case at the moment. I’m in day seven of the plague, or maybe it’s Venusian Mucosia, or some other knock-Sean-on-his-butt variety no one’s ever heard of.
I’m talking forgetting about calls, five days in the house, sleeping, coughing, complaining. I’m a mess. I have no concentration, and had to break grading the final projects into three days, then go back over the previous two to make sure I made sense. Conversations I don’t remember from Monday. Even the cats stay away.
My lesson from this is the absolute requirement for rest — I’ve usually doc’d up and powered on, grabbing the Day Quill and treating the sickness as more of a minor inconvenience. But this time, there was no choice – after an hour or two of being upright, I needed to lie down. I’m better today, and as the sun is shining, I’d love to get out of the forest preserve for a little while, but my sensible side reasserts — stay in, stay down, and don’t be afraid to nap in a couple of hours.
Come to think of it, that’s a pretty good prescription anytime anyone gets sick!