Watching the pills go down

Another day, another damn pill. I’m not one who suffers illness with a glad heart, but I also get a bit impatient with the cure. However, the pill bottle content is shrinking day by day, and although I’m not counting, I do give a jaundiced glance at the level in the container every so often and note that it’s decreasing. Slowly but surely. Each day of treatment means I get more of a nights sleep, fewer bouts of feverishness, less discomfort.

Like many men of my generation and blue collar upbringing, we were told to shut up and put up with it. Whatever the ‘It’ happened to be. Bleeding? When you’ve stopped, don’t forget to clean up after yourself. Does it hurt? It’s only pain. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, it’s only ‘Man Flu’. Even when you’re so sick and feverish you can hardly see straight. Or the pain is so great you can hardly put your feet to the floor. There have been those days, I can tell you. Although looking on the positive side, I’ve never had the misfortune to have a digit or worse ripped off by machinery then had to crawl or walk half a mile carrying the separated body part. There was one case from the pre internet 1980’s where a farm worker did just that. Fortunately, my illness is nothing of that extremity. Just something I ignored too long because I was busy with other people’s issues. So it goes.

If all of the above just makes me sound like a grouchy old cuss, well I have news for you, you old cynic. I’d just like to state that I love everyone. Without exception. That’s right. Old miseryguts here. I love people. People I love to be around, others I love to avoid, and a few I’d really love to see dropped into a tank of hungry Piranhas. So there.

Now that’s made me feel a whole lot better. Excellent.

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