On wrestling with seat belts and sheets, and the presence of wonder

I can vaguely remember a few fevers I’ve had during my life. The first was when I was maybe 6 or 8, and my family was down visiting my Grandma in Florida. We were on a family trip to Disney World and I totally ruined it. I can remember the 2 day drive down to FL and being absolutely miserable in our maroon red Chevrolet minivan. I was in the far back right side seat and my worst enemy was my red seatbelt. As I tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable in my fits of discomfort, that thing was just completely in the way. I also remember, once we got to FL, the wallpaper in my grandma’s bathroom, as I spent most of the trip heaving into that toilet (huge 60’s style flowers that I’m sure didn’t help with the nausea). I also remember being carried into a doctor’s office, so sick and dehydrated that I had to get a shot in my butt and I can remember the nurse telling me to “move my leg up and down like I was kicking in the water” to help it not hurt. Thankfully, my parents forced me to be an eager-beaver swimmer so I had that move down pat. Perhaps that’s why I absolutely tolerated loathed swim team for the next 10 years.

The second time was more of a recent memory—I was coming back from California for Christmas vacation during college and I was struck, and I mean STRUCK with the flu on the flight over. I was in the first row of seats, right side in the middle, and about 1 hour into the 5 hour flight I all of the sudden got chills and lightheaded and started sneezing and coughing and was super hot and started that same war with the seatbelt I had when I was six. I couldn’t get comfortable to save my life and I can remember I actually kindof lost it got disoriented and called a flight attendant over to tell her “I didn’t feel right” and “how long until we landed”. I could barely even get the words out and my mom came to pick me up and I remember being hunched over the concrete barrier in the pick-up zone (like lying all over it). That night my fight was with my sheets, not the seatbelt. I tossed and turned, feeling absolutely like death was right around the corner. I moaned in complete discomfort, unsure of how much more I could take. Within a day or so the fever broke and I was finally back among the living.

This time around wasn’t quite as dramatic as my first two memories but still incredibly uncomfortable to say the very least. I tend to think being “sick” is more in my head then anything. I deny, deny, deny, because I don’t know, I feel like it’s a sign of weakness or something. I don’t have time to get sick. But it’s the sitting around and not being able to do anything that really gets me. I am trying to get better at just “being”; with a book, watching TV, having a conversation on the phone (having a phone conversation while walking—perfect! Having a conversation while sitting on the couch—not so much). I go-go-go all the time, and the older I get the more I realize that in this "going" there is something I am trying to avoid. And it might just be the silence or the calm or the being with myself or it might just be all three. In any case, these past few days have been a lesson in just being, and it hasn’t been fun.

Since Thursday I’ve been warring with the sheets, tossing and turning, feeling my skin get warmer and warmer and my head get fuzzier and more frustrated as each morning turns to afternoon turns to evening. It seems there is nothing I can do to rid myself of the discomfort—advil isn't freaking working, and while my fever isn’t sky high, it is low grade and has stuck around for four days now. I don’t know what’s worse—super high fever for 24 hours or a seamlessly endless low grade. I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do anything except lay around. It. is. so. uncomfortable. It’s been a lesson in humility and “just being” and like I said, no fun. 

But this morning when I went to go make some tea, a quote on my refrigerator from E.B. White caught my attention. It never really does, because I’m usually rushing to grab the frozen mango out of the freezer or shove the guacamole back on top of the too-soft grapes or reach for my favorite bar of TJ’s dark chocolate late at night. It says “Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder”. Saw it, didn’t think too much of it, but I noticed it.

Over the past few days the morning is when I have felt the best, so I went to go water the plants on my balcony. I stumbled out through the window and just narrowly missed squashing the most beautiful half of a freshly hatched robin’s egg. I could tell it has just hatched because a bit of the membrane was still
attached.

Now, all you have to do is look back at the video I posted last week to see that I have been dealing with this whining type of sound around my apartment for a few weeks now. Everyone warned me it was a rodent but I had this feeling it was something else. And this morning my hunch was confirmed. Somewhere close to where I rest my head each night, where I have now laid endlessly wrestling with my sheets for 4 days, new life has hatched, and that, I find most wonderful.  The whining sounds were little baby robins, perhaps chirping in their eggs nestled in their nest or screeching and cawing as they made their way into this big crazy world that is West End Avenue.

So I’d like to think that little half an egg was a little sign that slowing down is o.k., keeping an eye out for wonder is important, and that this too shall pass.

I have been whining for the past few days—just ask my mom and the friends I have continuously updated on my status and have tried to live vicariously through.

:::::::Shout out to the things that have sustained me over the past few days::::::

Storage Wars: I didn’t understand the hype, but I do now.

Grilled Cheese Sandwiches from Andy’s Deli on 74^th and Amsterdam: This is why I can’t imagine living anywhere else than NYC right now. I can order a grilled cheese, along with Nyquil, paper towels, a 6-pack and a lottery ticket at 1am and it is delivered to my door with a smile. My orders weren’t quite that interesting over the past few days, but in any case this place is a god send.

Ikea’s Sultan Finnvik Mattress and Gosa Vide pillows: Seriously, so, so comfortable. What do people all over the world do without a comfortable bed? 

The Poisonwood Bible: When I get tired of Storage Wars or Bravo, I switch to Kingsolver’s classic.

Modern medicine: Inhalers make breathing better.

And that, is my very long, and very "all-about-me" post from my bed. You’re welcome.