As I write this, I don't feel good. I have strep throat. My tonsils are like angry tangerines. My doctor here in Israel took a culture then prescribed an antibiotic. It's helping somehow, I guess. But not with the pain or fever. Badly I want to dunk my face in a gallon of cherry-flavored Chloraseptic, trust me, I do. This ginger, lemon, honey tea I've been drinking all day has done nothing but made me a frequent visitor to the bathroom. I want to feel better yesterday.
Instead, I have to wait it out. And in doing so, think about my relationship with my body and with being ill. I'm frustrated. I'm busy. I am in pain. I have things to do. But isn't being ill part of the texture of life? Isn't this the deal? How often have I thought about my sturdy tonsils and the jo...
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