Bronchitis has come roaring back with friends, so it seems. To those not in the know I was in hospital two weeks ago, where I was diagnosed with it. It’s a revolting illness. You feel like a faulty phlegm factory, churning gunk up from a place only doctors know. I’ve been doing all the right things, rest, liquids, meds, yet the virus seems to have made itself quite at home in my now skinny little body. Holding food down has not been easy, and now I’m just eating the very basics; no grease allowed. Lying on the sofa going in and out of sleep is no fun for someone so used to being active. I’m beginning to hate Netflix.
Please, don’t think I’m attention seeking. I am bored though, with my coughing giving me migraines and the constant feeling of feeling under the weather. I’m dying to return to work and see and feel life again, rather than spluttering throughout the day. I guess we really do take our health for granted.
I thought I was overcoming it, although I still had a cough which my friend and colleague from Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos, Jonny, said I sounded like a motorbike revving. This simile got me thinking of my other ailments, and it inspired the poem below.
My legs lie like two dead tree trunks,
My cough bellows like a mating call of a velociraptor,
My lungs a reservoir of alien gunk,
My appetite like Tinkerbell on a eat nothing diet,
My temperature like a high-speed train speeding through the Sahara,
My sinuses as stubborn as an eighty year old spinster,
My insides wheeze as loud as a Mexican fiesta,
My brain’s wires as precarious as a detonator to a faulty explosive,
My medication the Mayweather punch,
My toilet habits…don’t need a simile.
My, my, my, I’m a raving attention seeker,
But when bronchitis shuts down every system – you know you have a keeper.