My inevitable end-of-year sickness has dragged into its fifth day, and, ominously, worsened. It was one thing to slog through a very sore throat, but altogether more alarming for said throat to turn bright red and swollen, and for swallowing to go from uncomfortable to painful to burning to sharp to gravelly. These things tend to be viral, so there's not much a doctor's visit can do; but as a precaution against something worse, I decided to make an appointment.
My usual doc was unavailable, so I saw another guy, who has a specialty in Eastern medicine. He took a quick look, ruled out any major ailment like strep throat, and offered some advice on foods to avoid (dairy, spicy foods, crustaceans) and things to do (drink pure water, have lots of chamomile tea, get rest). He also offered a form of Eastern medicine called "cupping," whereby a cup is heated and placed on the skin (in my case, the back of my neck), slightly burning it and, as it cooled and contracted, sucking up all the "poison" in my body. It has been proven to be effective in terms of relieving discomfort and it was covered by my insurance, but the combination of leaving bruises on my neck and being painful was enough for this wimp to turn down the treatment.
So I am left to gut out the sore throat, relieved that it's nothing worse but bummed to still be so out of it physically. Amy has been a trooper in my weakened state, taking the kids on solo and staying on top of my cold medication regimen while balancing her usual domestic responsibilities. I was shooting for some rest this week between Christmas and New Year, but I guess I wasn't expecting the rest to take the form of lying in bed fitfully while popping pills. God, it seems, often intervenes in this way when I am unable to choose to be still on my own.