Skip to main content

Laid up


Your body will give you signs when all's not well in me-town.
It starts out subtly suggesting that maybe it's time to start taking things easy.
But these signs are quashed in the rush of routine and responsibilities.

Until all the warning signs have been ignored and your body just refuses to budge, taking on an "I told you!" stance, and sticking to it's guns this time... for your own good.

And so it turns out, on the first day of my holiday, that I am laid up in bed, unable to move, feeling under the weather and hiding out under the covers.


It always happens like this, as soon as I go into relaxation mode, my body crashes.
There has to be an upside to this?

And there it is!
Someone's taking care of me, and he is taking it seriously.
It does feel strange to be on the receiving end of nurturing. As a wife and mom it is normally the other way round.
I am going to enjoy this.
I can feel my body relaxing in appreciation:
"Silly, woman, you don't always need to be strong! It can be quite off putting."

Unpracticed at this, I do what feels comfortable: cosy, big fleece PJ's, stacked pillows, knees raised...
He comes to me with medication, orange juice and a look of concern.
Sits at the foot of the bed.
I give him a look, puppy dog eyes, to extract sympathy.
"Are you feeling ok? Can I get you anything?"
I mumble something, everything about me lethargic.
He plumps pillows, straightens covers, at a loss as to what to do, so he does too much.
"Shall I bring you some soup? You must try to eat something?"
All I want to do is sleep.
He leaves me to it.
I drift off, dream of the ocean but I am woken up by waves of pain.
I call to him , "I think I'll take that massage now with the heated ointment."

I strip, lie on my tummy stretched out in front of him like a race track, hoping he'll drive me hard, round and round in a race to bring relief.
I feel his weight on the bed as he kneels down beside me, hear the clap as he heats his hands, and my body flexes in anticipation. I start the countdown..."Ready?" (Set! Go!)
I raise the small of my back, greedy for the heat he brings.
Ahhh...That's the spot...
1 Lap to go and he brings me home.
I turn around, spasm have receded, gratitude in my eyes.

He pulls the covers snug. "Was that good?"
I manage a quick wink before nodding off.

Things TO DO in bed (when you sick)
He is definitely at the top of my list.

Popular posts from this blog

Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting m…

Storylines

Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

Jack of All

My professional life is marred by the ordinary.
By the humdrum thank you ma'am.

It remains puzzling, even in my semi-retirement phase.
I am not someone with an aversion to "success" or money.
I was raised to have a strong work ethic and I tend to show up, and I’m 100% tied-in to my endeavors. I've been at the receiving end of accolades and positive performance appraisals,  and I have over time broadened my scope of learning and my skillset, and I have tried to keep up with the times and technology.

Still...
Always in circles.
Round  & round.
Forward; then back to square 1.
Everywhere, but up.
Lateral moves and Plan B’s.

Hmmm…
Maybe I am a dreamer?
Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest sibling, the other one?
It could be because I’m fickle?
Or easily bored?
Or difficult?
Too demanding? Not demanding enough?
Too nice? Not ruthless in the least.

Yikes, maybe I think too much?
Maybe I should think some more!
Or deeper?
I could go back and make like Freud and delve into…