Sickness is a part of life that is richer in meaning than we often give it credit for. My last twelve hours have been spent tossing, turning, cramping, and running to and from the bathroom with a temperature of 102 degrees. Tenderly sipping on some lemon lime Gatorade for hydration, I feel weak. The flu that has graced me was able not only to dehabilitate my every move, but also exhaust me mentally. Deep in the midst of my body fighting off the virus, my mind feared the worst… that I’d never feel normal again. The aches and my inability to focus were just so bad that I never thought they would go away; the pain made me feel incredibly human and alive in my suffering, all the while yearning for normalcy in my body’s health.
This is the beauty of feeling like death — it propels you into remembering the vibrant tangiblity of life. There is great wealth in sickness if only we look at it with the right perspective. When the fever breaks, you are able feel like the rainclouds of the world have dissipated and like sun rays have never shined so brightly before. You breathe without pain, you drink some water without it coming right out, and you smile because you feel alive. The human body is a fragile, beautiful being and ought to be appreciated for the way in which is can not-so-gently remind us of the fragility of life.
It’s good to be alive.