Bang. Throbbing surges through my body. In agony, I let out the most bloodcurdling scream until I run out of air. People crowd around me as I lie on the floor. Maybe one of them will put me out of my misery! I am not usually one to ask for help, but now I know I need it. I am ready to die. I’ve banged my bloody toe against the door!
The sun shone through an open window. I could hear birds singing, people laughing and talking, ELO’s Mr Blue Sky playing. I was sitting on the toilet, holding a basin, wishing I would just throw up already. Today, I was sick. And not in the cool, hip-hop way either.
In fact, by this point, I’ve been ill for two weeks. This was the second round of antibiotics, as the first one Amoxicillin was just too mild-mannered to fight off this chest infection. The flem clung to my throat and ribcage like stubborn cobwebs, or like a weepy, creepy ex. My sinuses were clogged, making my head heavy in aching pain.
I had to watch from afar- or in other words my Facebook newsfeed- all the nights out, dinners out, days out and other people having an all-out great time. I had to cancel shifts with my Easter holiday work- all of them over two weeks; Burnsfest, Easter Sunday with my family, Easter Sunday with my boyfriend’s family and god knows what else.
Why? I was housebound with it. As in the Disturbed song, I was well and truly down with the sickness. It was like the poltergeist that just wouldn’t go away. It was named The Cough.
I could barely move without coughing violently. I could barely think without coughing violently. All I did for the next five or so weeks was cough. Sometimes, I coughed for so hard and so long I made myself throw up.
I tried everything to exorcise this demon that haunted my body.
At first I thought: it’ll only last three days at most. I’ll stay positive, guzzle as many vitamins as possible, rest up and maybe if I ignore it for long enough, it’ll go away. Right? And for three days, I was led to believe this.
But on the fourth day? Nope! The Cough decided to stay, and it decided to exhaust me. For the next three days after that, I was bedridden. Then for the next two weeks, I would be couch-ridden. The Cough took up all my energy. I could barely play video games, let alone write meaningful content.
My Easter holidays evaporated and any shred of positivity had gone along with it. The Cough’s hold upon me had weakened, but I couldn’t bring myself to do everything I could do before. Still zero energy.
Another four days and I dragged myself back to work. If I didn’t go back now, The Cough would win. So I went back. I’ve been back at work for a week or so now and I’m still fighting it. Just about.
It’s not just a bad excuse for not producing new content. I really have been so ill I’ve not been able to write. I’ve been so used to going at a hundred miles an hour every day, but this past month I’ve been barely moving at a snail’s pace. Maybe if I hadn’t been going so fast, The Cough wouldn’t have had such an ample target.
I’ve decided to pace myself as best I can. I have an unbearable urge to say yes to every new project that appears but I doubt that’s a sustainable practice. This little blog post is one small baby step into creating new, fresh content for the website. Be patient though: I’m still locked in mortal combat with The Cough and it’s still breathing.
Thanks to my wonderful boyfriend for helping with the editing process. I’m still pretty new to blogging and wanted to make this one worth your while! x
Do you have any illness horror stories? Have you also been a victim of The Cough? Send me your stories in the comments! It’ll give me some goddamn perspective! 😀
My mind is a dark room with red lighting and a desk where I create and destroy at my will. It is a continent, surrounded by paper and ink. Like my study, it is cluttered, but unlike my study it has no walls.
There is nowhere the ideas can float but everywhere. That is until I drop them. It is funny to watch them squirm, drown and be forgotten.
Did that scare you a little?
Don’t worry, I’ve not killed anyone.
Well… at least not a real person.
NOTE: “Ink” was the first short film that I had been involved in. It was made as part of a GMAC Summer School, and shown at the Glasgow Film Theatre. I added the flier as my image because it is inspired by the film.
“Ink” is the intellectual property of GMAC film.
My wicked stepmother keeps me in this tower, day after day. It gets lonely. The only company I keep is her, whenever she brings me food or the odd critter. But they never stick around long. I’m so bored here, I’m almost brain dead! All I do is sing to myself and brush my ridiculously long hair.
Then I hear a voice from the bottom of the tower, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”
It’s a young man! I humph my ridiculously long hair out the window, and he uses it to climb up. I could do with a nice chat. Stepmother hasn’t seen me since breakfast and that seems like hours ago.
After a lot of tugging, and some strands of hair inconveniently pulled out, he finally reaches the top. His face has fallen, become pale for some reason. “Dear God! W-What are you?” he asks, shakily.
What does he mean, what am I? “I’m a princess, silly!” I laugh, but it just comes out as grunts. I walk towards him. He looks so good. He screams no. He’s rooted to the spot. All of this screaming is making me hungry. I bite a chunk out of his arm. He really is tasty! He has blacked out, and just as I’m almost finished his arm, I hear a blood curdling scream. I’m startled! It’s my stepmother!
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YOU HAVE EATEN THE PRINCE REGENT!” she screams.
I look down at my meal. Oh. So that’s why he’s dressed like that. I look back up at my stepmother, who’s looking down at me with horror and disgust. Oops!
You’d think that sound usually radiates in a church, booming and echoing along the walls and rising to the roof like hot air. But this morning, the orchestra mumbled hymns and the brass band choked a low rendition of Jingle Bells and Feliz Navidad.
I’m not an atheist, but I swear if that priest keeps boring on about the baby effing Jesus, I’ll sock him! He’s got the right amount of general fluff talk for radio. He could go on TalkSport for how much he bores on about the most mundane things. I really thought I could handle it. I sit at the end of my row applying yet another coat of grape lip-balm. I could run out if I wanted to.
But I can’t. I couldn’t do that to the kids at their Christmas concert!