Why Can't I Be Sick

I’m mad. And I’m sick. A cold? A Throat thing? I take pills and cough syrup. It helps but I can’t talk. My voice is gone. I go to work and whisper. I joke about it but it’s not funny today. I’m mad at me for being sick and I’m mad at me because I don’t allow myself to be sick. Then, to add another layer, I’m mad at him too for being stronger—or maybe more stoic? He went through chemo and didn’t miss a day of work. So how can I take a sick day for a sore throat? I know it’s crazy but it’s in there. In my fine little head. It raises the paradox. Is being sick—and knowing it --really healthy? Maybe my reluctance to be sick is a sign of health. Maybe a sick day is a mental health day? Maybe. But I’m still pissed.