My fingers and toes were ice, but my face was flushed and hot. Wrapped in a blanket, wearing several layers, including socks and slippers, I could not get warm. The tell tale signs were like stealth fighters. spies on a covert mission. Try as I might to thwart them, I merely slowed their progress. The tactic changed. It was a full-on frontal assault, a barrage of symptoms wreaking havoc with my immune system.
Chills. Aches. Fever. Runny nose. Sneezing. Headache. Maybe the flu. Sick. Bleh.
I hate being sick. I especially hate it now that I’m a widow. Going to the store to get my own OJ and chicken noodle is no fun when my head feels twice its normal size. Being sick feels worse alone.
My first reaction is typically denial. “I’m not getting sick. I’m just tired. I have too much to do. Can’t get sick. I don’t feel well just because I think I don’t feel well. It’s all psychological.
Finally I give in and accept reality. “Ugh. I feel awful.”
To the couch I go, knowing rest is a primary need. I admit, initially it’s wonderful to alternate sleep with a movie marathon. Sometimes slowing down is a beautiful thing…
Read the rest of the story here at Intentional By Grace.