Being sick sucks, specially that body aching, high-fever
induced, spirit defeating kind of sickness. My younger brothers and I used to
get sick pretty often when we were kids. So the symptoms are familiar to me.
And 2 days ago, I knew it was coming. I left work relatively early, climbed
into bed and woke up about an hour and a half later shivering from cold sweats
in the darkness of my un-air conditioned room. There I was curled up in fetal
position and sick with a nasty virus just like when I was 5 years old.
I downed 2 paracetamols and what seemed like a swimming pool
full of water, then forced myself to sleep. Another hour passes and I violently
cough myself awake. It’s the kind of cough that sounds like a Doberman about to
attacking a thief. Another giant gulp of
water and it was back to persuading myself to sleep and heal.
But it was no use.
I’d wake up every hour or so because my nose was clogged and
I could breathe, because I had to pee out all that water I was drinking,
because it felt like a 2 tiny blowtorches were having their way with my eyes. The
few times I was asleep didn’t comfort me either; it seemed the high fever was
playing trick on me. I had nightmares of people jumping off bridges to their
death, and a serial killer randomly stabbing nurses. Then my body would be
shaken to semi-consciousness only to have delusions in the half-awake
half-asleep state. I vaguely see shadows in the corners of my room; feel
someone watching from the window (of my 4th floor apartment),
whispers in my head. I’d tell them to go away, I say it in tagalog because for
some reason I feel that it’s more sincere if it was said in my native tongue.
Then I’d realize that my eyes are tearing – why? I’m not so
sure. Maybe it’s because my optics were burning up from the fever. Maybe it’s
because I was scared. Maybe it was because I felt so alone.
I know this feeling. I hate feeling. It’s probably one of
the worst feeling one could encounter – severely sick, seemingly handicapped,
overwhelmingly alone.
Sometime before dawn, I was awakened by a sudden urge to
throw up. Off goes the blanket and I zip to worship the toilet gods. And there
is was, mixed together with stomach acid and bile were the remnants of milk and
cereal– my pathetic attempt to have dinner.
After hurling out whatever was left in my stomach, I grabbed
the isopropyl alcohol and a small towel; I proceeded to give myself an alcohol
bath – just the way Mom used to do it. And I suddenly remembered her. How she
would watch over me when I was sick and give me my medicine in the middle of
the night. And how amazing a mother she is. I tear a little, as I finish up.
Must be from the punishing body heat.
Shivering, I cloaked a towel around my body, quickly change
into my warmest clothes, slid into bed and wrap myself in my blanket like a
Chinese spring roll. Clinging on to my cellphone; its delicate light provided
some reassurance in the darkness. “Who would I call?” I asked myself. “Who
would care? Who’s voice do I want to hear – just incase they found my body
lifeless in the morning.” I asked. More than once I asked. But no one came. I
felt so terribly alone.
I remember how it was the last time I was sick like this. It
saddening. So so saddening.
I guess these types of things come with the package of
adulthood – Life’s assertions that, more often than not, it’s up to you. That
white knights and unicorns are only in fairytales for a reason. That you have to
be your own white knight.
As the sun rose, I gathered all my remaining strength, hurriedly
went to the doctor and got myself some trusty antibiotics. So here I am; still
cooped up in bed for the 3rd day in a row; still fighting a fever.
Alone in the darkness… waiting for the
antibiotics to kick in, waiting for my body to heal, waiting for myself,
waiting to be ok. I hope I’ll be ok soon.
