The Art of Being Sick

I should have realised that this was coming.  There were warning signs after all.  The hot days had become merely pleasant and the light breeze had become blustery. A couple of nights ago I was woken by a storm that came crashing over The Village and when I awoke the next morning could see the light scattering of snow that announced the change of season.

Yes, I should have realised that this was coming but I didn’t . . . and now . . . it’s too late!  I am sick and I am grouchy.  I have lost my voice and I have a runny nose.  My throat hurts and my headaches.  I have chills and they are multiplying (although I am yet to lose control).  I have named this concoction of evil – the Turkish Lurgy.  I have it and I am crabby. The Turkish Lurgy is ravaging my body and I am certain that I will never recover.

“Nasilsin?”  How am I?

Well, frankly I am shit!  I look like shit and I feel like shit!

Normally in Australia, I would fight through the shit (sick).  I would soldier on with Codral and go to work, drop Daughter off at school and get on with life (spreading germs as I go).  Now, in The Village, I have reverted to my alternative personality known by many as Princess Janey.  This particular personality rarely presents herself these days however if she does make an appearance people shake in their boots and run for the hills.  Daughter has lived through Princess Janey before so has sensibly decided to ignore me and went to her cousin’s house.  Hurley is sneaking around for fear of upsetting the person who feeds him and even Kedi has retreated to hiding in my wardrobe while I recuperate.

I am currently in bed surrounded by tissues and propped up by pillows.  The Turk’s mother has taken over my house and is whispering demands to family members who scuttle off to carry out her instructions post haste.  I can hear the sounds of my vacuum humming, my washing machine washing and I can detect (even with my stuffy nose) the distinct smell of chicken soup simmering on my cooktop.  Unfortunately, I am finding it increasingly difficult to be gracious, surrounded by all the kindness and it is just making Princess Janey even more grumpy.

I spoke with The Turk on the telephone, “I just want to be left alone”.  “No darling, they do this because they love you.  It is the Turkish way.”

Hmph!  And so I push Princess Janey back into the recess of my mind and I smile at my mother in law when a tray is placed on my lap.  I smile at my sister in law when she hands me some Turkish syrup with instructions to take it 3 times a day.  I smile at everyone who pops in to ask me Nasilsin? and I am thankful that they do not know the word “shit”.

I think I will throw my duvet over my head and hide under here until they leave.


Why didn’t I realise this was coming?

3 thoughts on “The Art of Being Sick

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