The Price of Optimism, Part I
I've been sick. I had plenty of time on my hands (insomnia will do that to you) but I just couldn't focus enough in order to blog. That's a shame, because if I had been able to type out entries, it really would have helped me tick away the hours.
I'm on the road to recovery now, with the middle point of the see-saw coming last night at 11:00, when the decision was made to go to the Emergency Room. This all started last Tuesday, when I woke up with a little sensetivity in my throat. I suspected it would be something bad, and it was. By that night, I had a killer sore throat and cough. Shoot, it must have been my typical illness.
I call it my "typical" illness because I tend to get it more often than any other. I'm usually in good health, so the list doesn't have any really high numbers. But on two other occasions, I can recall getting viral strep throat. Antibiotics are useless and my life devolves into waiting for the next time I am forced to swallow. This time felt no different.
I was disappointed because I had scheduled a trip to Chicago to visit friends. I haven't been to Chicago in 5 years, and even on that particular trip I didn't see anyone I knew. I hoped that I'd still be able to make the trip. I made my hotel reservations Tuesday night.
Wednesday morning made it all seem like a good idea. After a nice breakfast of hot oatmeal, I felt pretty good. The throat soreness was minor and the pain for swallowing was only inconvenient (as opposed to eye-wateringly excruciating). But the day marched on and by evening things were bad again.
"Surely you won't be going?" my parents asked. "I'll make a decision tomorrow," I said hopefully.
Thursday morning was worse. I regretfully wrote to cancel my scheduled visits. I canceled my reservations. I consoled myself that I did the right thing by avoiding passing on whatever illness I had to the kids I would visit.
And then my health really started to go downhill.
The kicker is that each day when I woke up, it always felt a little better. I avoided going to get treatment (or even diagnosis) because it always seemed like things were improving. Or at the very least, how could anything be worse that the current point in time. Naturally, I must be at the worst point NOW.
Though I don't think earlier treatment would have allowed me to completely dodge the bullet for the second phase of illness. More on that next time.
I'm on the road to recovery now, with the middle point of the see-saw coming last night at 11:00, when the decision was made to go to the Emergency Room. This all started last Tuesday, when I woke up with a little sensetivity in my throat. I suspected it would be something bad, and it was. By that night, I had a killer sore throat and cough. Shoot, it must have been my typical illness.
I call it my "typical" illness because I tend to get it more often than any other. I'm usually in good health, so the list doesn't have any really high numbers. But on two other occasions, I can recall getting viral strep throat. Antibiotics are useless and my life devolves into waiting for the next time I am forced to swallow. This time felt no different.
I was disappointed because I had scheduled a trip to Chicago to visit friends. I haven't been to Chicago in 5 years, and even on that particular trip I didn't see anyone I knew. I hoped that I'd still be able to make the trip. I made my hotel reservations Tuesday night.
Wednesday morning made it all seem like a good idea. After a nice breakfast of hot oatmeal, I felt pretty good. The throat soreness was minor and the pain for swallowing was only inconvenient (as opposed to eye-wateringly excruciating). But the day marched on and by evening things were bad again.
"Surely you won't be going?" my parents asked. "I'll make a decision tomorrow," I said hopefully.
Thursday morning was worse. I regretfully wrote to cancel my scheduled visits. I canceled my reservations. I consoled myself that I did the right thing by avoiding passing on whatever illness I had to the kids I would visit.
And then my health really started to go downhill.
The kicker is that each day when I woke up, it always felt a little better. I avoided going to get treatment (or even diagnosis) because it always seemed like things were improving. Or at the very least, how could anything be worse that the current point in time. Naturally, I must be at the worst point NOW.
Though I don't think earlier treatment would have allowed me to completely dodge the bullet for the second phase of illness. More on that next time.
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