The truth about my inner strength


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You know how some people show amazing strength and positivity in the face of life’s adversity?  You know how those people keep smiling even when they have every reason to complain?

These are the people we all admire.  They look on the bright side, no matter what life throws at them. These are the types of women who say things like, “Well, at least I got a chance to catch up on my knitting!” while they are recovering from gall bladder surgery. They read self help books while their broken ankles heal.

They research new recipes while they convalesce. They look cute in their pajamas, with their little noses all pink and their cheeks rosy from their fevers.

I hate them.

Because I am so. Not. Like. That.

I have been sick for a week.  I have a bad cold. Maybe the flu.  Maybe even pneumonia. Ugh. I have been hoarse, croupy, coughing, congested, achy and wicked crabby.

And by crabby I mean “Do not touch me or speak to me or breathe near me or I will bite you.” I have been stuck in my house for four days.  The smell of Vicks is mixing with the smell of dog and every time I inhale, I get more annoyed.  My ribs hurt from coughing and my right shoulder hurts from spending 143 hours in a row playing “Bejeweled.” I have bad breath and my hair is all sticking up on top.  I am pasty and pale and baggy eyed and floppy.

It is not a pretty picture.

But you know what?  Last night as I was going to bed, I gave myself a little pep talk.  I did. I looked right at my reflection in the mirror.  Yikes. I decided to take my glasses off, just so, you know, I wouldn’t get too disgusted to lecture myself.  I stood up straight and I said, “Self, you listen to me. You are probably feeling worse because you’re just lying around like a big old slug.  You need to shape up. You need to think positive!  You need to go to sleep and then wake up feeling a whole lot better.”

Then I marched myself to bed and tried to stop coughing long enough to fall asleep.

And when I woke up, twelve hours later, I gave myself a little once over before I stood up. Ugh. Still achy, still dizzy, still coughing.  Crap.  I dragged into the kitchen and made coffee.  I looked at the recliner.  There were dog hairs on it. Right next to my rolled up dirty socks.  I shuddered.

Nope. Not another day in the recliner.  No way.  I thought about those cheerful positive types.  Then I gritted my teeth and marched into the bathroom.  No more sweaty PJ’s for me, no sir. I was going to shampoo, slather on the body wash and shave these bristly legs. I was going to get on the road to a positive recovery RIGHT NOW.

I stripped down, stepped briskly into the nice hot shower and grabbed my razor. “I can do this.”  I told myself.  I reached forward to shave my right ankle and ZING!!  A bolt of electricity went through my entire spine as my back went into a full out spasm.

Three hours have gone by. I am back in the recliner, on an ice pack this time.  I’m trying to be positive.  Sorta.

“Well”, I’m telling myself, “At least I’m in too much pain to actually throw a piece of furniture out the window.”

Crap.