Why is it that when my mother was dying of cancer, she rarely complained. When my grandmother broke her collarbone, she was only angry with her limitations, not with everything else. Why is it when my ex-girlfriend had gallstones, I barely even knew about it. Why is it when a woman gives birth, they forget the pain and talk about the joys? Why is it that I get a cough and I become totally incapacitated?
Let me first set the record straight. I can take an enormous amount of pain. I have been punched in the face, got hit by a car, I've been tackled by people who were much bigger than I (when I was younger). Never did I even wince. While at Manhattan College, I was playing a basketball game in a gym class and while running down the court after a basket I hit a dead spot on the floor, my knee buckled and what came next sounded like a gunshot. The guy running next to me literally dove on the ground like we were under fire. I grabbed my knee and told everyone I was OK. I got up and continued to play. This, you will soon find out was beyond imagination. Someone looked down about three minutes later and said "Dude, your knee looks like a melon." I looked down and my already large knee look as if there was a grapefruit attached. I sat down and then the real swelling started. The knee locked up and became about five times the size of the other one and quite squishy. The end result was a torn ACL. I never had surgery and about a year later, tore the other one. During this time, I continued to play sports, although my speed and mobility was greatly decreased. The pain was brutal, but I never let it stop me. So why, why can the common cold crush me like a grape?
When I have allergies, colds, or any other ailment in which daily living is hampered, I seem to recede into the darker regions of my bed. I will go hours, no drinks, no food, no sunlight, no sound, just me and my agony. Forget it if I have a fever and the shakes that come with it. I lay all day and night, wrapped in comforters, like Tutankhamen with Parkinson's. I am miserable. I don't want to be touched, because normal temperature hands feel like needles piercing my torrid skin. The taste of food has left me and the thought of another glass of some citrus drink nauseates me. The pain from this I find unbearable. But why? Is it really that bad?
Maybe it's because when I was a child I would get colds and know that I couldn't play. Maybe it's because I detest chicken soup. Maybe it's because I know the colds always seem to come on the weekends. Maybe it's because I don't have my mother there to lift my head, comfort me, and let me know I'll be better soon. I don't know why it is, but there's something about being a man and getting sick. For me, there is nothing worse.
Let me first set the record straight. I can take an enormous amount of pain. I have been punched in the face, got hit by a car, I've been tackled by people who were much bigger than I (when I was younger). Never did I even wince. While at Manhattan College, I was playing a basketball game in a gym class and while running down the court after a basket I hit a dead spot on the floor, my knee buckled and what came next sounded like a gunshot. The guy running next to me literally dove on the ground like we were under fire. I grabbed my knee and told everyone I was OK. I got up and continued to play. This, you will soon find out was beyond imagination. Someone looked down about three minutes later and said "Dude, your knee looks like a melon." I looked down and my already large knee look as if there was a grapefruit attached. I sat down and then the real swelling started. The knee locked up and became about five times the size of the other one and quite squishy. The end result was a torn ACL. I never had surgery and about a year later, tore the other one. During this time, I continued to play sports, although my speed and mobility was greatly decreased. The pain was brutal, but I never let it stop me. So why, why can the common cold crush me like a grape?
When I have allergies, colds, or any other ailment in which daily living is hampered, I seem to recede into the darker regions of my bed. I will go hours, no drinks, no food, no sunlight, no sound, just me and my agony. Forget it if I have a fever and the shakes that come with it. I lay all day and night, wrapped in comforters, like Tutankhamen with Parkinson's. I am miserable. I don't want to be touched, because normal temperature hands feel like needles piercing my torrid skin. The taste of food has left me and the thought of another glass of some citrus drink nauseates me. The pain from this I find unbearable. But why? Is it really that bad?
Maybe it's because when I was a child I would get colds and know that I couldn't play. Maybe it's because I detest chicken soup. Maybe it's because I know the colds always seem to come on the weekends. Maybe it's because I don't have my mother there to lift my head, comfort me, and let me know I'll be better soon. I don't know why it is, but there's something about being a man and getting sick. For me, there is nothing worse.
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