A touch of flu

I caught a flu over the weekend. I think I must have gotten careless with hydration the day before and it weakened my resistance.

Or it could be that I got careless with my words.

I had recently half-bragged to my daughter, K that my health has been of late, quite good. Setting myself as an example of healthy living, I was trying to impress on her the need to eat and rest well.  That my health had held up pretty well was true. Despite the stress I went through of losing Jenny and the massive loss of sleep as I wrapped myself in my blanket of grief each night, missing her terribly, I have been quite resilient to viral attacks all thru the last year.  In fact reflecting back, from the time that Jenny found herself stricken with cancer, I knew that I had to keep myself in good shape. I was her caretaker-in-chief and could ill (pardon the pun) afford to be in a sickly state, passing on viruses that could potentially take her down. Perhaps I was offered a tiny sliver of mercy from above. For much of the past year, my health was ship-shaped, maintaining an even keel even as I mourned and rode through the storm of losing my wife.

But as I soon learn, the body has a short temperament for self-praises and a strange knack for rebellion just to prove me wrong. I had spoken too soon about my apparent “good state of health”. 

Before long, my nose got runny and my throat was tickly as the rest of the body slumped to lethargy. A visit to the doctor was on the cards and with medical leave granted, I spent the better part of the work-day yesterday resting in bed.

I woke up this morning feeling much revived. But the virus is far from eradicated. I could feel traces of its menace still lingering within me.  Today being a public holiday, I could continue resting at home or venture outdoors. Outside, it was glorious sunshine and the PSI count had put air quality to be in moderate state, meaning good. I could not resist getting out of the house. Took a short drive to West Coast park and did a slow walk-a-jog around the park, which was crowded with picnickers, cyclists, skaters and other joggers. I was ever mindful that excessive physical exertion could be fatal to the body afflicted by virus, so I deliberately kept to a measured pace.  The outdoor exercise gave me a good sweat-out and a refreshing change of scene. I did not over-exert myself and felt a little better.

But as always, Jenny was in my mind.  I have tried hard to pick up the pieces of what remains of my life after she died, keeping myself occupied as far as possible, with work and getting on with the necessities of day-to-day living – ensuring that the fridge is stocked up with food, paying all the bills on time and keeping check on the kids to see to their needs.

But I cannot escape from that awful hollowed out feeling .  Her absence is always there. It reminds me that I am but whiling my time on earth, getting busy with a series of activities to pass the time away till that final day when I would re-join my dearest wife.

Except that I am not big on beliefs of the after-life. Through my training and years spent reading, my mind is too far culled by scientific reasoning. So all that stuff about the super-natural, heaven and hell that does not have a scientific explanation  does not sit well in my head. I tend to dismiss them as a mix of superstition and wishful mindedness.  My limited imagination has little space for irrational notions or other grand delusions.

“She has gone to a better place”. I have heard these consolations so many times. They were well intended and meant to sooth my fraying morale. But it sounded trite and flat, like all the other platitudes I have been hearing lately. They did little to lift me up. As I had said, I have a poor head for wishful thinking.

I suppose that being a skeptic and not having a religious mind presents some disadvantages when it comes to dealing with tragedy.  I feel lonely without a higher being to lean on.  But losing my own rational mind would be the epitome of a spirit that is truly and totally crushed. That would be a tragedy in making too.

So what’s this again that saying the wrong words can ruin one's body and health? How rational is that? I hope I am not losing my mind now.