Sick days

I woke yesterday morning with severe stomach pain. Not a great way to start the week, but I figured it was my IBS, triggered by something I'd eaten the day before. I rarely have much in the way of IBS symptoms anymore, since I realized that raw veggies cause most of my problems. But sometimes I throw caution to the wind and eat something that wasn't quite cooked through, or I don't even realize there are nearly raw veggies tucked into a Chinese dumpling, like the ones I ate at a brunch on Sunday.

I tended to my bruised gut with herbal teas and miso soup, warm liquids to soothe the battered lining and the anxiety I was starting to feel. As the day continued, and I'd had only warm liquids, I grew weaker and my head felt thicker, too. I also realized I'd been nauseated all day, all night, some of Sunday, not typical for IBS. Instead, I think I caught some sort of stomach bug or possibly had some mild food poisoning. Eventually, I vomited last night and have been feeling steadily better ever since. Today, so far, I'm able to eat my normal diet, though I'm wary and eating cautiously.

Unless it recurs, it's not important what caused my pain yesterday. What was striking was how helpless and abandoned I felt. Had Sandy been here, she'd have been checking on me, making my tea and anything else we decided seemed wise. She'd have urged me to nap or to walk or to lie on the bed with her. She'd have kept me from the stupor I fell into through an attempt to sedate myself through video (too nauseated to read).

I was hungry, even as my gut rejected the idea of food, and I finally realized I could try some white rice. I lay down before fixing it, and as I drifted in and out of sleep, getting hungrier and weaker, I was desperate for Sandy to make it for me. My need to be taken care of wasn't strong enough for me to call someone, pathetically, and ask them to come all the way over here and make rice for me (though I know many generous people would have), but my weakness was such that I imagined that I'd lie there, wasting away, for lack of a bowl of rice.

Taking care of each other wasn't limited to illness, of course.
Cuddling with a kitty got us special consideration, too.

I want to be taken care of, not generally, but by Sandy, specifically. When she was working fulltime across the lake, if I felt unwell, she'd come home early, calling first to ask what groceries to pick up. She'd usher me to bed or make sure I was comfortable wherever I'd landed, and she'd cater to my whims as various things appealed, depending on the illness. Of course, I did the same for her. Midnight walks to 7-11 for cough syrup or throat lozenges; last-minute trips to the grocery store for applesauce or epsom salts; making multiple dinners until we found one that appealed. None of this is extraordinary; it's what people who love each other do. But when it's no longer available, it becomes remarkable, and its absence accentuated all that I've lost.