It’s a strange sort of purgatory-like existence being home sick when you’re still not quite well enough to return to work, but no longer sick enough to spend days in bed, slipping in and out of naps, marking the passage of time by medication schedules. I was meant to be back in work today, now that I am flu-less, but the “mother of all flus” (as my doctor described it) instead left behind a nasty sinus infection. I had been agonising over whether or not I wanted to just push through and go back to work today or be kind to myself and beg the doctor for a few more days off.
Go, go go! whispers the workaholic. You know you want to!
Rest, rest, rest! urges the other half. You know you need it!
It’s probably a bad sign of how well my doctor knows me by now that he didn’t even ask. He sent me out of the office with an instruction to his receptionist to issue me with a further sick cert, leaving me blinking in surprise.
So I am home for a few more days, this time feeling more like a rational human being than shivery mess, and I plan on savouring them before returning back into the chaos of work which will keep me running around endlessly until Christmas.