I don’t get ill very often. Today, I’m ill, and I really hate it. I hate the things I can’t get done when I’m ill. I hate the responsibilities that fall onto others’ shoulders. I hate the feeling that there will be so many things to do and that there will be all these things that will pile up if I slow down and admit I’m ill.
I really hate that weak feeling I get when I’m ill, not from the illness itself, but that one that makes me feel needy and childish and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
Historically, I don’t even go to the doctor until I can’t take it any longer. Then I go, I get medicine, and I get on with things. I might slow down very briefly, like for a nap or something, but that’s it. Unless it’s really bad. Then, I’m an emotional wreck, because I feel like a burden. Not only are my duties not being completed, but someone might even have to help me, too. Oh, man. That feels so….uncomfortable. So, I try really hard not to need the help. I’ve certainly never asked for any.
Today might be the first time I was really honest about how bad I felt. It began with a simple text to M, which was returned with a phone call in maybe 3 seconds, no joke. I was told to go to urgent care and I went. He told me to come home, then went to get my medicine for me so I could lie down. He brought me my meds with food because that’s what the label said. Then, he told me not to worry about dinner, he has it covered. I got a big kiss and he tucked me in on the couch before he went back to work.
Huh. I didn’t even have to ask for help. I was told to not feel bad about him leaving work before I even said anything. I was told to rest and to call if I needed him.
I’m sick, but I feel so…..good. It feels so good to let him take care of me.