Mirror, Mirror …

Who is
the palest of them all? It feels as if there’s some kind of competition going
on in our household at present; just who is the Whiter Shade of Pale? If you’ve
read the previous couple of postings on ‘The Word of Sinna Luvva’, (La Rue
des Invalides
and Quasimodo
and Esmeralda
) and perhaps even the preceding post Body Talk you’ll already be aware of the background to this posting. Ma belle Helen
has been struggling with some strain of flu virus since the weekend and, every
time it seems to be losing its grip it seems to renew its grip in a tighter
vice as if to re-assert its authority!


beloved’s appetite for both food and liquid have been dramatically reduced but,
as her tastebuds have gone on strike, bland invalid food serves just as well as
my usual flavour explosions. At the same time as the virus was taking hold, my
back had re-commenced one of it’s all too familiar spasm attacks. The scenario this
week has been rather a case of the blind leading the blind, as I stumble up the
stairs to provide some succour for my Esmeralda.


Most of
my routine aches and pains, in muscles and joints, have re-emerged but the
sense of washed-out-ness has attacked with a vengeance. There are times when
the pallor of Helen and myself is
almost identical, until she trumps me with a right royal flush. For myself, I’m
content to accept that my decline is quite simply part and parcel of my ‘normal’
condition, exacerbated only a little by the more frequent step-exercises as I
travel between kitchen and bedroom.


doctor’s prescription of plenty of rest, fluid and paracetamol, for ma belle,
is certainly being followed in the rest stakes but the fluid intake and
swallowing of tablets has proved a little more difficult to follow.


PS 19.55 A kind of post-script to this post, ‘Self Pity?’, can be found on The Word of Sinna Luvva.

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