ribs

Ten minute quick write ribs:

At first it was almost fun. No not fun, but surprising, alarming in an interesting way. I coughed and made a loud angry sound. Something totally different, separate from me and who I am and the sounds I make. This was fine, while it was the only symptom of the sickness. Then I just got plain sick and the coughing didn’t stop. Now my rib muscles and back muscles are painfully aware of their existence and every emotion they are used for.

Now even the slightest ‘ha’ or “heh” is much too painful to endure. My roommate joked that I could sell this sickness as “Abs of Steel .. Look good, feel horrible … One Cough at a Time.” I do suppose that there probably are people who would buy it.

Being sick is lame. When I am sick I feel sorry for myself. Boohoo, I can’t sleep. Boohoo my stomach muscles hurt from coughing. Boohoo, I can’t even eat dinner because my cough is so violent, my soup comes out my nose. Now those are some pretty good reasons to feel sorry for myself. But then I think of my coworker, who is also sick, but lives an hour away by train with 5 daughters she has to take care of. What a luxury it is to be single and only worrying for myself. Then I also think of all the people in Payatas, whose very livelihood, if it can even be called that, gives them every disease known to man, from birth defects to asthma to death and then they spend 50 percent of the money they make from walking the trash dump day in and day out on aspirin to ease the pain of their tumors or fevers or hydrocyphilis. And I think of them, and if I am feeling humble enough, I will pray for them, but then I will cough, and I will still be sick, and stuck in bed, what good am I when I am sick in bed?

I guess being sick is a good reminder of fragility. Life is woven together with fine pieces of beautiful colored thread. Thread that can be snipped, pulled, broken, gnawed through, lit of fire, unraveled, or bleached in a matter of seconds. When I was born I came with no slip of paper with Lifetime guarantee or even a warranty, nothing stating that when I’ve reached 3000 miles or 3 years which ever first please come in for an oil change. My life, standard of health is a blessing, luxury, privilege, for which I become more thankful for as I sit in bed for 2 days sleeping.

I started coughing again and as it is 430 I took some narcotics. The cough medicine with codeine that the doctor, who I am privilege enough to be able to see, prescribed for me. It makes me feel slightly strange as I picture this narcotic dripping down my throat through the insides of me coating me with sleepiness.

The office is almost entirely quiet, just a few people linger here this Friday afternoon. I am such a goody goody. I can not leave my desk until I see the clock strike 5. I guess I am not that much of a goody goody because I checked out mentally sometime ago, when I started writing this about my ribs. Good night office, good night moon. I am going to go to sleep again.