The Patient

I hate not feeling well. I am not a good patient. I get cranky and short tempered when I have to accommodate the limitations placed on me due to illness or an injury.

Maybe I am not so good at being sick because after childhood ended, I never had time to be sick. It's hard for a Mom to take a sick day when your kids still rely on you as their primary care giver. I remember dragging myself from the bed to the sofa to keep an eye on the kids while sniffling, or keeping a trash can close by.

I guess I've been pretty lucky overall, I can't recall too many sick days, even as a child. I remember walking into the kitchen one morning burning with fever.  My mother remarked that I was "shaking like a leaf." Even then, my fevered brain marveled over that simile.

My most vivid memory of being ill was catching the worst case of chicken pox the doctor had ever seen.
I had itchy bumps everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I could barely eat, or drink, or swallow.

For an hour each morning and evening, I spent an hour soaking in an oatmeal bath, followed by my mother dabbing each and every welt on my skin with calamine lotion.  Even today, one whiff of that pink stuff and I start scratching my suddenly itchy skin.

Ok, I'll take my medicine, I will do everything the doctor prescribed to heal this illness, but I am going to be impatient if I don't feel much better tomorrow.