Sick & Tired or Tired of Being Sick

I hate illness. I hate being sick. I hate asking someone else to do something for me or to take care of me. I truly am an independent person. I love the feeling of accomplishment at taking care of myself, mastering new skills and trying new experiences. When I first became ill, a friend asked if it wasn't nice to have my husband worry over me. Let it be known that Meat doesn't worry over me when I'm sick. At least he never used to. And that was fine. He was 3,000 miles away when I was first diagnosed with cancer. He was 3,000 miles away while I was dealing with pre-term labour and a high-risk pregnancy. We managed. I learned new skills, I mastered the situation. I coped. I became a stronger person.

The last two weeks have been misery. My lymph nodes on my left side have puffed up to an absurd size and I have been unable to fully use my left arm. At first it was total loss of use and agony. Meat, who never worries, never hovers, never left my side. He kept me in episodes of SmapXSmap for laughter therapy, rubbed arnica cream on my shoulder and didn't sleep. It is an experience I never want to re-live.

Now I can raise it a little and use it some. Not fully, but enough to make it seem like life is returning to normal. I hate sitting here like a useless blob. I want to get up and re-conquer my kitchen. I want to put on my shirt without pain. I want to hang laundry on the line. I want to sleep lying down and not propped up.

I had another friend who once said that she wasn't cut out for the commoner life, that she surely should have been a princess. She hated cookery, didn't want to take care of her husband and son and was happy sitting watching television all day. I still feel, as I did when she told me her thoughts, that it was a sad way to live. Perhaps I'm not living the Princess Life right now but I'll be thrilled when I can go back to my "mundane" days. Bring them on...please.