I'm not claiming to have an incredible tolerance for pain or discomfort, nor am I exactly mild.I have a story to back it up, but it's neither here nor there .
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I can honestly say I can't think of a time when I've felt this bad, including the worst hangover I've had in a while. But I digress.
I'm on day three and I'm nearing the point where I can lay down and raise the white flag while waiting for test results after a circus of seeing doctors. In preparation, I've created a list of Doom and Darkness that reflects major ailments... I sound like a complete wimp, but I don't care.
My daily work requires reflection, not casual focus on how awful I feel. I'm actually thinking that bad, dare I say sick. As I was writing this, I decided that this was the appropriate course of action. The Man-Oh-Manimal movie is filled with gunshot wounds and terminal illness. He feels like a 5 year old with his PlayStation stolen. He wants to stomp and scream, but I'm sure he'll throw cookies if he tries.
I could have continued, but as I felt the pain of his head being crushed into my butt, I thought of something else.
I have several terminally ill people around me. How do they do it and how do they work day to day? Both with the looming clouds and the side effects that bring them down?
Considering these extraordinary people, I feel a little ashamed to complain about these three days of his life.
Don't get me wrong, I feel like (insert your favorite word here to reflect body wear and tear).
Maybe I should hide and whine instead of barking at such petty complaints.
Finally I felt like I was dying, people around me had an appointment with him.