The illness my husband and I have shared has hit him much lighter than me. He is nearly well. I have coughed until it hurts my sides and I get a headache.
I guess it is just as well he is progressing so quickly, as he is making a trip to visit his dad today. He has wanted to do this for some time and has waited until just the right moment. The time is now. I will not be going along, due to the probability that I am still contagious. And still tired.
Although I managed to do laundry yesterday, I had to rest between each task. More strength does not always equal more energy. At least I’m not dizzy anymore. I am so glad of that!
I have thought lots about how I feel I’m under attack from the enemy and how my being sick just gives him such pleasure. I have wished for a miraculous healing. That would be just superb, in my opinion, to shake this disease in a moment. I would love that. But it’s not manifesting, here.
So all I know to do is be patient, let my body and the meds do their work. Then I think: The enemy also hates patience, so if I practice patience then I am defeating him, again. The body is miraculous in its ability to fight off disease, absolutely without parallel in this world of many wonders.
So I will keep plugging along, keep trying for patience, keep boosting my God-given immunities with antibiotics, antihistamines, and antitussives; hot teas and lemonades; cough drops and cough drops and cough drops. The day will come. It will.