I woke up this morning feeling better. Not just a little better, but a lot better, as in, "Ooh, I get to bake the Trader Joe's pecan sticky buns that were rising overnight." Better as in, "Yum, that was a tasty 390 calorie treat, but I think I need another one."Better as in, "Hey, the thought of going up and down the stairs does not intimidate me."
I've consumed my 900 calorie breakfast and taken my meds and fed and watered the animals and I'm ready to hop into the shower. What a lark! What a plunge! (I've been rereading Mrs. Dalloway.)
Up until now, I think I was lying when I said I felt a "little better." I was just so damn tired of sounding like a negative Nellie and I wanted to believe that I was improving, but I had no evidence of that. Saying I felt a "little better" satisfied the questioner and, I hoped, would convince my body that I really was getting better.
The astute Dr. Forman picked up on this yesterday. I had told the nursing staff that I felt a "little better," and he was excited by this report. But when he saw me, he said, "Define 'feeling better.'" Busted. The only thing I could come up with was that my cough has improved.
But today I am not delusional. I am feeling better* and I am jubilant. I may even go downstairs for another one of those pecan sticky buns.
(*More energetic, less shortness of breath, no dizziness)
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