Gratitude in the form of a cold

Well, it happened... and nearly a week after my last post. I got a cold!! A full blown, knock-you-on-your-butt cold that lasted two and a half weeks... and my first in about six years. It got me the night I babysat my sisters boys (ages 6, 4 and 7 months). The baby didn't sleep so well, ergo, neither did I. My body, being accustomed to the precious 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep I get daily, was completely vulnerable to receive any and all germ in my path... and as much as I love children, they all tend to be little bags of viruses.

So, I followed all of my own advice and alas had to suffer (while enjoying a few hot toddies, I might add). I tend to get quite depressed when I am sick and unmotivated to get well. Isn't that silly? Yet, I also do come out of a nasty cold with a giant feeling of gratitude, and a bit of shame at being such a baby. After all, I did come out of it, and eventually got well and I don't, as far as I know, have cancer or any other terminal illness. Perhaps it is a good thing to get a cold every now and then, to be humbled and able to relate to other cold stricken folk... to be able to look at one another with sympathetic eyes and say 'I've been there...'. Then, I don't feel as though I were a failure in taking care of myself... that even the healthiest can fall to the mighty wrath of the common cold.

Here's to recovery!