When it comes to sick days…

I’m on the fence about my sick days.

It’s a really hard time for me when I’m sick because the love I receive becomes confusing.

I have only ever missed a total of five days from school and one of them wasn’t even a full one; make that two. My first was when my granny passed away and I missed the first hour of school to be told the news. Just in case you were wondering, yes, I did get and have to do homework that same day.

The second through to forth day are linked together. I was getting confirmed, and it was school holiday tuition, so in a way those three days [Friday from 11:00am to Monday 7:45am] don’t even count.

The last and final day was an actual sick day. The thing is I had been sick for four days but my parents really took me seriously when I called up at 3 in the morning from my hostel, shivering, close to my death bed-I always told my friends that this would get my folks attention, granted they arrived at 8am.

It turned out to be Malaria. [Remind me to tell a certain friend’s dad that Coast has a lot of mosquitoes, enough to give me malaria].

I don’t know. I milked the heck out of this day, so in the end he helped [my friend’s dad that is].

I’m a really, really lazy person up front so when it comes to sick days, it becomes worse. I wake up feeling like the world hates me and so I decide it doesn’t need to see my face. I lose my appetite because I can’t move and I generally stick to my bed for as long as I can. A simple swelling on my lip and I can go into hibernate mode.

I start off my day with the words, “I’m going to die,” My already depressed mood, supercharges and becomes worse.

Oh yeah, there is worse.

I’m sick now, so this is really using up my energy.

All I want to do then is sleep but I also want the needed attention I deserve. So I text my mother because that’s all my tired fingers can manage. Calling would require searching up the contacts list and gosh, that would involve thought. I wouldn’t want that to strain me.

Me: mum, I’m sick

Mum: what’s wrong? You’re allergies?

The thing with my allergies, is because they are allergies, they can go on their own or just be stopped by a simple anti histamine and therefore my mother won’t take me seriously enough to make an effort to comfort me.

So no it is not my allergies, until there are no other outs.

Me: I don’t know. My throat is soar and I have no ability to breath [translation: a blocked nose]

The first thing my mother notices is the spelling and thus moves on to ignore the actual reason we are talking in the first place.

Mum: how many times must I tell you it is ‘sore’ not ‘soar’?

Me: and I can’t find my inhaler [I choose to ignore her allegations and quickly delete the message along with the proof]

Mum: it must be the weather. You’re allergies are usually bad at this time.

Yes they are but I learnt that my mother says this at whatever time of the year. Whether it is sunny, raining, cold season or dry season my mother will never fail to say, “Your allergies are usually bad at this time.”

Me: yeah.

I give in and try for another tactic.

Me: dad, I’m sick.

My father unfortunately isn’t as faithful in the sick front. He doesn’t reply immediately, he doesn’t pick out my spelling mistakes and for one thing, I don’t even think he knows I have allergies.

So I wait for around six minutes to the whole day passing by [the latter being more likely] until he calls me. What if by this time I have collapsed, adopted a monkey or decided to move to Canada? What would he say then?

I pick up the phone regardless.

Me: hi. [I put a load on the sick voice to make me more believable]

Dad: hi baby. How are you feeling?

I’m maybe relatively better but who wants him to know that. I’ve been waiting for this the whole day. I’m going to play it out.

Me: my nose is still stuffy and I am coughing like a choking cow [yes I have time to come up with a dramatic way of putting it]. It is not good.

Dad: woi, that bad.

I just said it wasn’t good didn’t I?

I groan instead. He might decide to be more sympathetic to that reply.

Dad: Let’s just see how it is tomorrow.

Wait what? That’s it? That is all I am getting for being sick the whole day? Are you even going to buy me Piriton-I think this is the only medicine I know-?

Me: oh, okay.

Figuring that my father probably shouldn’t have been my escape, I go back to my mother for one more last chance before I give in to the truth.

Me: I think it must be my allergies.

At this time, it seems like texting her at night is a way of showing her I’ve been deep in thought about this even though the most strenuous activity I probably did was turning the pages of the novel I was reading.

Mum: okay. That means it’s not so serious. I’ll get you something to help but sleep now so that you have enough rest. Goodnight.

Oh shoot!

There it goes my golden opportunity wrapped up in a single ‘goodnight’.

I told you when it comes to sick days, the love I receive is confusing, sometimes I don’t even know why I try.

And so, because I slept for eighteen hours and haven’t eaten, I lay awake in bed for the rest of the night, trying to cajole my lazy ass to get up and get us some food before I really die of starvation.

But I never get up, laziness is a skill.