Saturday, 12 October 2013

As The Cliché Goes

The cliché goes, “squeeze into a pair of old blue jeans”.  I could talk about a pair of old blue jeans that don’t quite fit, but I won’t.  I won’t hasten to perform a cliché; I’ll do something new, something that makes you intrigued.  I will talk about a blue flower skirt.  My mother brought it back from San Francisco as a gift; cost her 20 bucks.  It’s fitted, straight, a pretty lightish blue with printed flowers on it.  They’re faint, daintily printed onto the fabric with a hint of sparkle.  Only one problem; it doesn’t fit me.  I can't quite fit into it, it’s too big for my sister and it will probably spend the rest of its life in a cupboard shelf, never to be worn.  I lack the motivation to eat clean, to exercise properly, to be fit and to lose the extra body fat that isn't needed. This is the story of how that could change.


Last night I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t sleep because my feet were itchy.  Not like a small itch that you scratch and it sort of tickles as you do, but then it goes away.  No, I’m talking about the kind that has you tossing and turning in your sheets.  The kind that stings but itches all at once; the kind that feels good to scratch and yet when you stop it is worse than it was before.  You rub your feet together in anguish and frantically try to relieve the pain, but it doesn’t go away.  I ended up sitting in the bathroom at 2am with my feet in freezing cold water in an attempt to numb it away.  My feet were itchy because I have a rash.  I have a rash because I was taking an antibiotic called amoxcill whilst I have glandular fever.  I was taking amoxcill because they thought I had tonsillitis.  ‘They’ being the professionals we call doctors, the ones we are so easy and quick to trust.  Then they go ahead and  prescribe you the wrong drug.  Anyway, long story short would arrive at the conclusion that I have glandular fever and it has sucked. 

Only a person who has experienced the pain of the disease will fully understand it.  First, I had a cold, and then I turned eighteen.  This meant that I partied hard, drank too much and went to bed too late.  I developed a UTI (urinary tract infection) and that was most uncomfortable.  Shortly after that I spent a week in bed with a high fever, then my glands went up and morphed into golf balls.  I found myself hesitating to swallow because the pain was so excruciating.  It felt like a muscle being pulled to its maximum and then sliced with the sharp blade of a knife.  The nausea made it hard to sleep, and I realised how much we take for granted one's ability to breathe through one's nose.  It was hands down the worst few weeks of my life.  My mum was in San Francisco, whisked away in all its beauty, and I was bound to my bed, absolutely bored out of my brains.  I learned that taking panadol and nurofen together is really good because they react off each other and work faster.  I also learned how to perfectly time when to consume the tablets, for optimum pain relief.  (I also learned that you can take 8 panadol’s and 6 nurofen at the same time and not die, as long as you don’t have anything else for the next 24 hours). 

I watched tv, I watched shows on my computer.  I did a puzzle, I texted on my phone.  I went on Facebook, I tried to sleep.  And then I repeated the process.  I migrated from my bed, to the couch, to the mattress in my theatre room.  I yelled at my sister and her friend for sitting around on their computers on a beautiful day, because they were healthy enough to embrace it.  I cried and barely ate, snapped at my boyfriend because he loves me and then apologised because he didn’t deserve it.  I ordered my sister around and cuddled my cat because I was lonely.  I drank water through a straw and chewed on ice, blasted through 3 seasons of Breaking Bad and woke up at 2am every morning, barely able to breathe. 

The most important thing:   
I got through it.
Well, am getting through it.  Being sick muddles your mind, makes you moody and sets you backwards in life whether it be work, school, uni, friendships; whatever it may be.  It makes you realise that your health really is the most important thing.  Without it, you are nothing. 


I’m writing this because often we forget how we felt in the past, and even though we vow to change the way we live when things get better, we forget what motivated us in the first place. 

When I am healthy again; when I am fully recovered, I am going to be so fit and healthy.  I’m going to embrace it.  I will eat clean, buy some motivational work-out clothes and hold on to the skirt that I can’t quite squeeze into.  I will work-out, do aerobics, and go for runs.  Perhaps I will do some skipping, or go for a rollerblade; whatever it takes. 

And when I’ve given up, and I’m sitting on the couch with a full bag of cheese Doritos (let’s be honest, they’re the best on the market), saying ‘YOLO’ and feeling fat and unhealthy, I’m going to read back over this.  I will remember the pain that I went through when I was unhealthy and sick, and remember why I’m doing what I’m doing.  I will put down the bag of Doritos, maybe get a celery stick instead and go for a run.  And in a few months’ time, I’ll fit into that old flower skirt with a smile.            

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