There is something about being ill that makes me terribly introspective. Maybe it’s something about feeling the absolute lowest of the low, so miserable and poorly that you can’t even watch box sets all day, to woeful to read a book. Last week this house was struck by the flu and we went down like bowling pins, one by one. Elfie was first and she handled it like a champ, with lots of nose-wiping requests and Peppa sodding Pig on repeat. I was next to succumb to the lurgey and felt so ill that I had to call in back-up in the form of the ex, shipping the kids off with him as I literally couldn’t get out of bed.
I lay there for three days, getting stuck inside my own head because there was literally nothing else to do. I wanted to watch Grey’s Anatomy but my poor fuddled brain couldn’t concentrate, the energy to lie on the sofa rather than bed just wasn’t there and work was totally out of the question. I missed the kids something awful; because my illness fell right in the middle of when the children were on their pre-arranged daddy time they were away for five days in total.They might not sleep much but cor I hated them not being around.
When you are ill you really start to appreciate the little things in your life. You realise how much you take for granted the fact you can get up in the morning, hop in your car and run your kids to school. I missed wandering round the aisles of Waitrose (my happy place) with a cup of tea, choosing between obscure salts to season the evening’s meal. I was distraught I couldn’t muster up the brain power to write emails, blog posts or book ideas and the first shower I managed to take made me feel superhuman.
The diet went to pot and all I wanted to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner was Marmite on white toast (I had SIX SLICES, screw you, paleo). I festered in bed for days on end (real time: two days) spilling clementine juice on the sheets and littering the floor with fusty tissues. All visitors were banned because an ill Alice = a moody Alice and nobody wants to be growled at by me.
Thankful for the NHS and their friendly phone-wielding doctors (I had a rash along with my flu-symptoms which made me convinced I was dying and googling for info about Health on Line didn’t help) I soon had a diagnosis of simple flu and a viral rash. Liquids, rest and paracetamol were the orders.
Nothing made me happier than waking up on my fourth day of illness and actually wanting to get up in the morning. Actually, getting the kids back that day made me the happiest, especially because Elfie got all her Doctor’s garb out (pig mask included) and made me better by vigorously poking at my mouth with a large plastic syringe. In her world doctors closely inspect their patients with a magnifying glass and temperatures are taken via the palm of your hand. It’s awesome.
Hux is still dealing with the tail end of flu: he went down with it the day after me and has a chesty cough that would make any 60-a-day smoker proud. But I’m nearly back to normal: a little bit more grateful for our health and our little lives that we have going on here. Let’s hope this urge to live life with that little bit more vigour lasts longer than my flu did, knackered or not.This post was written in association with Health on Line but I promise they didn’t give me the flu. For more info you can take a look at my Disclosure.