I'm not a hypercondriac, said the hypercondriac, right?
But seriously, I'm not. Although I'm pretty sure that majority of the people in my life (excluding my mother, my sister and my flatmates) think that I am. It's what comes with being ill a lot. I've been in bed with belly bugs at least 4 times in counting this year and it's been rather wretched.
Here's what I've learnt from multiple hours staring at the ceiling muttering God take me now in a melodramatic manner (because if he had I wouldn't have been overly impressed on my arrival)
Being sick is not a barrel of laughs. Take it from captain fun times, it's less than enjoyable. Although, I've learnt that sometimes when you're sick, quite magical things can come out of the woodwork. You can realise the depth of someones care for you. For example, my friend Jasmine made me do a little sleepy weep of joy when she dropped off some soup, a teddy called George, and some powerade. My sister Annie brought flowers and sent a link to free download of an excellent album to soothe my feverish head (believe me, it did) and I was awakened to just how precious those things are to me. I learnt that all it takes to feel a little better is someone sitting beside you and saying 'This sucks, I'm here."
Acknowledging that someone is facing trials is like propping up their shoulder, it's telling them that you see what they're fighting and you're fighting too. Don't point the hypercondriac finger.
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