Sick

I enjoyed the conference at the Vancouver Convention Centre, seeing old friends, remembering nostalgically those not there, decades of such conferences until Covid.  This was my first and it really was good.  

Sunday morning I was at St. Barnabus.  My throat was sore .  It was hard to swallow.  I enjoyed the walk on the Quayside New Westminster.  Oysters and Clam Chowder.  The next day I felt like something was torn inside when I swallowed.  Tuesday I only made it through the morning asking staff to cancel. I had laryngitis for sure.  I simply can’t work with laryngitis.  The fever and chills came in the afternoon. I don’t like chills. For two days I didn’t think I’d ever get warm.

The nights were worse.  Up on the hour I couldn’t sleep, such fatigue, coughing and miserable.  My mind wasn’t working. I could hardly pray,  I tried watching tv.  I couldn’t focus. Reading a book was out.

I was still walking Madigan 3-4 times a day. He’d poop each day and I’d get back to bed. I relished the electric blanket.  I made a trip out for propane, keeping my place jungle hot while feeling chilled.

In the wee hours I was talking to Jesus. I hurt all over. I have chronic pain but this was such that I couldn’t find any position of relief and I’d taken a handful mix of acetaminophen, ibuprofen and ASA.  I was drinking all the fluid I could.  Feed a cold water a flu. I didn’t know what I had .  Food had no appeal but I shared roast chicken with Madigan and ordered in Chinese and PHO.  I couldn’t finish anything. I’d have no appetite.  No taste. I just did what I knew I must.  There was even a point there when I was dry heaving over the toilet.

In the wee hours of the night I talked to Jesus.  I thought of him on the cross and was humbled .  I’d have given up the names of family to torturers in very little time at all.  No judgement of tv and such but I really know I don’t have what it takes. Maybe when I was young. I’m old.  Pneumonia is the old man’s friend. I asked my god my god why hasn’t thou forsaken me.  I was weeping and it was just the fatigue and sadness and maybe some guilt and shame. I’ve had a good life , an adventure, I’ve served, but I’ve fallen fall short of what I could have been or could have done. I imagined I could have been a better man, especially to the wives, even my mother, or my father, or my mentors. I feel in the end I’ve let everyone down, not in great ways , nothing sinister, but like my report cards always said, “Billy could be so good if he put his mind to it.”  I didn’t feel my mind was helping then. I was in pain and feverish and chills and maybe a bit delirious.  I thought I was dying. I thought this is it. I was talking to Jesus.  Then Madigan would cuddle up beside me.  And somehow I’d wake in the morning and enjoy the s

I had some Zithromax and began that on Thursday.  I think it was all viral but the psychology of antibiotics gave me a break.  The razor sharp pain of swallowing stopped.  Green phlegm began and the cough now wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t sleep. No desire to sleep but no relief.  Fatigue. Utter fatigue.

I was up on Friday. Weak. I’d not slept much but 4x a day for a half hour I’d walked Madigan. I’d driven the car to get us food a couple of times. It seemed like weeks had passed in what was really only a couple of day.  Wednesday and Thursday were really bad but Friday I listened to an on line meeting. I drank more soup and believed  I was out of it though the cough persisted, a dry could, annoying.  I was past infectious.  You’re most infectious early not late.  

I was thankful that I slept that morning and showering made it to the chiropractor.  The pain in my pain which is a curse was relieved.  I met Laura because I felt guilty providing so little to madigan.  I’d taken him to the off leashe dog park but the minimum. He was a trooper. A good little nurse.  Observant. Caring. I liked watching Laura walking him. He loves her and she is fun for him. He smiles, I smiled.  I knew I was going to live that morning. Friday it was fairly certain. There was only a 12 hour stretch it was uncertain. I couldn’t get air in for a bit, like a scuba dive accident.  I hate not being able to breath.  The old TB. All the colds and respiratory infections.  Friends dying of Covid.  Letting the old die of flu and pneumonia.  I worked a country gp and did my share of hospice.  Breath is important.  Looking back I can’t believe I smoked that decade.  But then I drank back then too never knowing I’d live this long. People shooting at me.  Planes crashing,  Cars and motorcycles doing pirouette’s in the air.  I’m lucky to be alive. People always called me lucky,

I feel blessed.  I only saw one set of foot steps in the sand that night.  It’s often that way.  God was with me.  I am blessed.  God is good all of the time.  Today I’m thankful.  

My neighbour has just brought me hot soup. So I’ll stop and feel the grace.

Thank you.  I’m glad to be alive.