There is a certain enmity I have with my body when I’m sick.
I just want to get better, and do the things that I want to do. But the body takes priority. It’s fatigued, it’s weary, it’s doing unpleasant things with membranes and cough reflexes. It’s complaining and achy and demanding and I’m angry with it.
And while my body is rebelling against me, I know somewhere in the part that’s not busy feeling angry, that it’s doing all of these things because they are what’s best for me. And I’m glad for it.