Rapport from a sickbed

Being sick is never fun, and especially not when you have things to do. Well, noone can escape the grasp of sickness from time to time, and I would say that I'm a pretty healthy lass. but this time there was nothing that could be done. I had already felt somewhat bad the last week, but that is normal when I'm stressed out by something as important as my bachelorthesis. 

But last monday I met the wall. I didn't have any voice at all (if you are a singer, you probably know how terrifying that is for an other singer like me), had fever and I had the worst coughing in my life. It felt like my lungs were ripped out everytime I coughed, yes I felt like Mimi from La Boheme, a victim of tuberculosis.

I got different advices in what to do from my friends; one said that I had to gargle spirits, one said that I had to do nothing at all (I don't like solution implying to do NOTHING), so in the end I managed to get myself to the doctor. Well, finding the doctor what not as easy as i might have thought, and what could be worse than standing out in the pouring rain, crying my heart out because I couldn't find the doctor? But after a looong time I found my way, and i remember the hour I waited there. I felt like I was going to collapse, my lungs not functioning at all. I feared that it could be bronchitis or pneumonia, and if it was my life would crumble.

When you have a very close relationship to someone, you fear above all to lose this person. And me, who define myself through my voice, who use it everyday for singing, reading curriculum and poems, was terrified to lose it. If that was the case, I couldn't say what I would have done....

Well, back to the doctor. My voice had slowly returned to me, but it was still squeaky. If you had heard me, you would probably have thought I was a hen or something, because my voice was jumping up and down in pitch...Terrible.

My doctor checked me, and thankfully the test showed that it wasn't bacterial, so i didn't had to get antibiotics. But it was a virus-infection, so I just had to take my time, drink ginger-tea, stay warm and don't get into trouble.

So the next day I spent in bed, and doing that was boring. But since I was in such pain, I just had to lie still, staring at the ceiling. it is not a very nice ceiling, painted white with a luminous moon, a drawing by my brother, who resemble something between a tribal-tattoo and something celtic, and a world map; upside down....

When I didn't stare at the ceiling, the wall was the next target, where my big map over Ireland takes up the most space, next to the Boondock Saints-poster. both of them mean something to me, and I would say that staring at Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flanery made me smile ^^ 

 

And my Ireland-map is now filled with post-it notes, telling small stories about different places. They are all fastened with pins. Here and there you can find references to historical places, songs, persons and scenery. Like you will find the note 'Michael Collins' in the middle of nowhere, or "Revenge for 1847" at Skibbereen

So even if sickness was bad, I got a chance to think. What do I want to do with my llife? What have I accomplished? What is life compared to death?

I don't want to give an answer to these questions yet, because they deserve much more thinking.

So now I'm gonna enjoy my cup of tea while looking out on the pouring rain. Bergen is back to normal.

Over and out