How does illness influence your thinking in the middle of the night?
Standing before a stack of pre-heart attack cold medications in the bathroom I realize how much has changed in the past eighteen months. Not so long ago I would down any number of cold remedies without hesitation to relieve any symptom I had in mind.
After some consultation with Doctor Google I settle on two Tylenol and a big glass of water.
I feel like crap. The common cold on top of a sore back within the landscape of post-heart attack and ankylosing spondylitis life.
It’s funny the thoughts that come into your head when you wake at 3:12 a.m. after six hours of sleep.
“F*ck I feel bad.”
“My head hurts.”
“Better text Paul that I won’t be riding to Saint’s.”
“I need chicken soup.”
I rode into town this morning on the Vespa to run a few errands. A few hours earlier I had planned to ride 120 miles for lunch. The spirit is willing but the flesh is sick. Even the ride into town was too much.
I walked laps around the house with a bowl of chicken soup, dogs trailing behind wondering what this middle of the night activity meant. I didn’t tell them it was purely to limber my back and allow gravity to drain my sinuses.
After fifteen minutes I’m feeling a lot better. Not well, but improved enough to embrace delusion and denial.
I Want to Go For a Ride
It started with me thinking about riding in the morning to Saint’s Cafe despite feeling light-headed, sneezing and coughing.
“It’s not that far.”
“The fresh air would be good for me.”
A lap around the house later I’m thinking about going for a ride now. In the middle of the night. Kim, who’s awake now and reading a book, breaks the spell by asking if I’m going to take off work today because she thinks this is Monday morning.
I don’t mention the riding idea.
A dog is nosing me. He’s suggesting it’s time to go back to bed. Don’t have the heart to tell him I’m going to have a cup of tea and a cookie…