Pheedsician, Heald Dyself

I habd not been wridting ford a whilde now, becuz I'bd down wid dis derrible colde.

Post wasabi decongestant treatment:
(I have not been writing for a while now, because I'm down with this terrible cold).

I remember growing up, I didn't really get sick that often. Actually, let me define that. I didn't get sick enough not to go to school that often.

That boils down to two reasons:
1) You wanted that perfect 100% attendance record, and so come hail or high temperature, you made it to school.

2) Mum didn't have much sympathy for us when we were sick (sorry, Mum, it's true!). I remember there were days when I had such a sore throat it felt like I was swallowing razor blades, and didn't want to get out of bed, but Mum would tell me to stop faking it, and I would get so worked up I would drag myself out of bed, into that cold shower and then to school. Just to show her.

I think that Dad being the way he was, Mum stressed a bit when we were sick, and so we tried not to be.

The one time that I did remember Mum fussing over me when I was sick was when I had the dengue. It was either life-threatening or it was school for us.

(Okay, it wasn't that bad, Mum. Haha!)

But enough about that - I have been quite a sickly person growing up. I remember a particular college day when I turned up puffy eyed and runny nosed to the lecture theatre. I was going through rolls and rolls of toilet roll paper (see how glamourous your Dad was, children!), forming a sea of scrunched up mucus-soaked tissues, when a (somewhat attractive) female classmate sitting next to me turned and said, kindly, "You're some kind of weakling aren't you?".

Ouch. In that one phrase I sat emasculated, my testosterone scattered over the little wads of tissue paper on that lecture theatre foldaway desktop.

I think that it is ironic that I have not received much sympathy for my illnesses as I was growing up - no one really fussed over me, and illness was often taken as a sign of weakness. And now, here I am - in a medical profession, tending to the cries of the unwell and those in pain.

Now that I am working, I thank God for keeping me relatively healthy in my two years of work - in my first year, I took a total of two unavoidable days off due to gastro (I only stopped going because one of the outpatient nurses started developing similar symptoms).

I was almost in perfect attendance for my second year, when right at the final two days, today and yesterday - I have needed to take them off because of this horrible flu/sore throat that has kept me prisoner within the confines of my bedroom. I am starting to feel better now, though.

One of my bosses made this note - and he was right, that sometimes as doctors, we are the worst people at looking after ourselves.

That's why my lovely wife will one day fuss over me when I'm sick, there will be warm blankets and chicken soup, with whispered prayers and calming words and lullabies.