Sunday afternoon, I took a nap. When I woke up, the sky was raging with thunder and the ground seemed to shake. It didn't rain that hard, but the weather was bad enough. What's too bad was the weather inside me was suddenly bad, too.
Monday I decided I could still make it to the office despite feeling under the weather. And I did. I made the day. I took three tablets of paracetamol and at the end of the day I knew that even a whole pack couldn't have done a difference - something was wrong.
That night I slept with a fever.
Tuesday morning, I couldn't get out of bed. I was alone in my apartment room. I didn't have breakfast, I got right back to sleep each time I would wake up. I was convincing myself that I'm strong enough to go to the office, but somehow, I couldn't make me believe me. Somehow at the back of my mind I still know something was wrong.
As I drew closer and closer to 3:00 PM, start of my shift, my worry stacked higher and higher, and so did my resolve get weaker and weaker. And then when I scratched my back, there it was, a drop of water, out of my skin.
I had an inkling.
About two weeks or so ago, I remember an officemate returning from a long sick leave. I heard he just had what I now have.
Later on in Tuesday, I got up when I saw it: three little blisters, starting to grow below my right wrist. That was when I knew. I was so down that moment, thinking I was alone. Sick with chickenpox, hungry and alone. I knew I had to get up and get moving even though that was the last thing I wanted to do that day.
I mustered what strength was left of me and took a bath, packed my stuff, and left the apartment. I took off for the nearest mall and ate, and then I went straight to the medical center to have myself checked. After I had my diagnosis given and my blood sample taken, I left for my home in Cavite, where my family is.
I've been here since Tuesday and what's in between now and then was torment. Thankfully, right now relief is in my grasp, and I hold tight. My body is a landscape of red mountains, volcanoes, even (and I'm not trying to be funny there), an expanse of soreness and momentary itch, but I know that one day, soon, it will heal. It will be gone. I hope against all hope that all that will be left other than the immunity from this unforgiving disease is the lesson, whatever it is, that people learn from falling ill and weak and making it back up to the surface, standing.
And stand I will.
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