For as long as I could remember and cared, it was the first time I hit up 40 degrees. To me that meant panic. I did self-medication rigorously taking Panadol, 500mg every 4 hours for 24 hours in hopes to make me feel better. Paracetamol failed me.
I finally had decided to take a walk to the clinic yesterday. 40 degrees and nauseating. Throwing up? That wasn't normal. I felt like I was about to collapse. If I could, I have hurried back to the doctor, grab his collar, tell him I was feeling horrible, and demand him to do something. I emptied an empty stomach right where I sat in the waiting line. Dirtied my mouth and hands and the small plastic with bitter Panadol-flavored saliva and probably intestinal fluids. I know it was disgusting. But I perspired and felt better after.
After my first intake of antibiotics, stronger dose than the previous 625mg prescribed to me last week, it was the first time in the longest time that I appreciate being well again. It was the first time that I appreciate prescriptions from physicians again - if I ever did appreciate that. And it was the first time that I appreciate someone actually taking care of me.
In 4 nights, I am relocating. Again. After a meager quarter. A lot of things have changed in a couple of months. My summer mess and madness was well, mess and madness. But I have to make a decision for myself now. Bestfriend may be right this time, give myself a break and stop swaying away attention. And maybe I did realize now that I also need to be taken cared of just as much as I am willing to give all my care.
