On being feeble

This morning, I made myself breakfast. First, I shook up guava juice together with green superfood powder to make a smoothie. Then I mixed cocoa powder with honey and hot water before adding double cream plain yoghurt. (The result was reminiscent of Moirs Instant Pudding and not bad at all.)

Physically challenging stuff. Afterwards, I felt so faint that I had to pour myself a glass of cold water and retire to bed like a delicate Victorian lady in a sanitorium.

It turns out that getting let out of hospital was not a ticket to getting back to normal. If anything, I felt better when I was confined to a bed with a remote control and nurses brought me headache pills on request. Now I’m just… feeble.

 
Friday, in retrospect, was an unusually good day. I drove to the office. Yes, it felt far – much further than usual – but I made it and even presided over a couple of reviews. On the way home, I did some shopping at the Pick n Pay Hyper. Gliding along with my trolley in search of sugar free peanut butter and cherries (I eat a lot of cherries now, for the uric acid), I felt pleasantly spaced out, like a supermarket Julie Andrews about to launch into a number from Mary Poppins.

Yesterday I was back at Sunninghill for a check up; standing at the reception desk afterwards to pay the bill was torture. Today, getting breakfast finished me. I’ve been lying on my bed ever since, with a brief sojourn to fetch lunch. This blog entry was typed out on my phone while lying flat and now being completed on my laptop while sitting up. Already, I can feel the dizziness blossoming inside my head; soon I’ll need to lie flat again.

I feel fine as long as I’m horizontal. The moment I get up to do anything, I’m not. The trouble is, there isn’t a lot one can accomplish while horizontal. Can’t drive. Can’t go to the office. Can’t attend meetings or deliver presentations.

Nights are better, at least. Then I can manage dinner with the family and even playing the piano. “I’m not an invalid,” I tell my in-laws when they fuss over me. The trouble is, I’m not sure that’s true. I’m capable of frighteningly little right now.

Pregnancy is perfectly normal. It’s not a disease. So why, all of a sudden, does it feel like one?

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