An old hermit once said that the body follows what the mind perceives. If the mind thinks that the body is sick, then the body withers like a plant left to thrive under sun-baked earth.
The bacteria, which currently thrives on my throat remains resistant to the antibiotics. Nevertheless, no matter how slow the recovery is, I feel much better now compared to two nights ago. The pain of swallowing remains a problem, but at least I don't choke when phlegm runs down my throat. The medical bill however is a different story. Since I am required to take antibiotics three times a day which cost a hundred per tablet, maintaining the medicine cuts deep into my pocket. If I let my hedonistic aspirations take over my priorities when I recover, there is no doubt that I will end up in the red long before the new month arrives.
In such precarious state, I am left with only two choices: Extend my rest day by calling another sick leave, or force myself back to work so I can earn my keep. It would be easy to call in sick, since my mother had already intervened yesterday on my behalf. The supervisors will surely understand my condition since I never go absent on critical days like today. However, I realized that resting did not do wonders to improve my condition. On the contrary, being bedridden left a stench of sickness that I am still trying to fumigate out of my room.
So I went to work to earn money.
And my income for today will go directly to buying medicines tomorrow.
The thought of earning is already a plausible reason to take risk and compromise my being. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't used my sick leaves since the policy was implemented at work a few years ago. I could use it now to cover my expenses, but there are deeper reasons why I have to go to work.
The mind desperately seeks any semblance of normalcy - even if illness had taken over my bodily functions. And like the hermit said on the opening sentence, to let the mind perceive an improved reality, might convince the body to believe that such reality truly exists.
Even if in truth, they are not.
The eight-hour shift went smoothly. I did what the clients expect me to do and on the sidelines, I was able to update my friends who were in Yahoo Messenger about my condition. Except for some occasional shift in body temperature and some punctured moments where I thought that my throat will give up, things were almost normal.
I even went to the gym after work, hoping that I could just sweat out the toxins.
The repercussions however, is a different matter. The threat of an imminent backfire remains a sharp pole that is lodged on my throat. As my tonsils begin to act up again, and my body temperature starts swinging erratically, leaving me close to shivering under the sheets,
I have at least achieved something only morons would ever dare doing:
Push myself to the edge of my limits.
The bacteria, which currently thrives on my throat remains resistant to the antibiotics. Nevertheless, no matter how slow the recovery is, I feel much better now compared to two nights ago. The pain of swallowing remains a problem, but at least I don't choke when phlegm runs down my throat. The medical bill however is a different story. Since I am required to take antibiotics three times a day which cost a hundred per tablet, maintaining the medicine cuts deep into my pocket. If I let my hedonistic aspirations take over my priorities when I recover, there is no doubt that I will end up in the red long before the new month arrives.
In such precarious state, I am left with only two choices: Extend my rest day by calling another sick leave, or force myself back to work so I can earn my keep. It would be easy to call in sick, since my mother had already intervened yesterday on my behalf. The supervisors will surely understand my condition since I never go absent on critical days like today. However, I realized that resting did not do wonders to improve my condition. On the contrary, being bedridden left a stench of sickness that I am still trying to fumigate out of my room.
So I went to work to earn money.
And my income for today will go directly to buying medicines tomorrow.
The thought of earning is already a plausible reason to take risk and compromise my being. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't used my sick leaves since the policy was implemented at work a few years ago. I could use it now to cover my expenses, but there are deeper reasons why I have to go to work.
The mind desperately seeks any semblance of normalcy - even if illness had taken over my bodily functions. And like the hermit said on the opening sentence, to let the mind perceive an improved reality, might convince the body to believe that such reality truly exists.
Even if in truth, they are not.
The eight-hour shift went smoothly. I did what the clients expect me to do and on the sidelines, I was able to update my friends who were in Yahoo Messenger about my condition. Except for some occasional shift in body temperature and some punctured moments where I thought that my throat will give up, things were almost normal.
I even went to the gym after work, hoping that I could just sweat out the toxins.
The repercussions however, is a different matter. The threat of an imminent backfire remains a sharp pole that is lodged on my throat. As my tonsils begin to act up again, and my body temperature starts swinging erratically, leaving me close to shivering under the sheets,
I have at least achieved something only morons would ever dare doing:
Push myself to the edge of my limits.
The liberation for the throat remains a protracted battle, but the semblance of normalcy remains a beacon of hope. Come hell or high water, it is my fervent wish that I will fully recover before the next week begins.
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