I got a viral infection that has wasted a whole week and almost wasted me. It started with a small headache and loosing my voice. It turned into a monster that wouldn't let me breath and coughing that almost did me in. By yesterday I said "I give." and went to the hospital in Elk Grove to see my doctor. I started running a fever.
I wrote this poem for him....although I didn't take it with me, so he didn't actually see it.
Please Doctor.... Make me well
Christmas is a coming.
I've got so much to do...
The cookies need some baking
and all the gifts bought too.
I can't be sick much longer.
It's not the time of year.
I haven't finished anything.
Please kick me in the rear.
Give me all the medicine
that you know will make me well.
Because the season is coming fast
and, Oh, I feel like Hell.
Just one magic potion
to make my body right.
Just one magic potion
to let me see the light.
I promise I will write a letter,
with cookies, to your boss,
And tell them you're the best darn "doc"
in the whole entire Hosp'.
(OK, that last line is kind of lame. I will work on it.)
_______________
The Prospector drove this wretched person down to her appt. The doctor listened, poked and did some tests and sent me home with antibiotics, Codeine cough medicine and Albuterol inhaler. He told me that I shouldn't have waited so long to come in. I was borderline. (I've known that for years.)
Today I feel...... better. Kind of.
Silly me. I thought I wasn't going to get better. It's hard to be positive when you can't breath.
I have this small thought inside that is getting larger, as I grow older. It's like a window with old distorted glass. I'm looking into it and I see my reflection. Behind me is my mother. She couldn't breath either.
At some point in our lives we see this reflection of what lies ahead... and it's so scary we can't even say it's name.
I'm so glad Christmas is coming..... Maybe it will snow.
