Sick...and not happy about it.

I hate being sick.

I don't like taking medicine.

I really don't like changing my diet to accommodate my illness.

I like staying in bed all day, but prefer it to be by choice rather than my body's rebellion. It's no fun staying in bed when books and movies are not options because my eyes water when I try to look at anything and when my partner is safer in the next room.

I like taking time off work, but would prefer to do so for a vacation. I can't wait to take a vacation.

I hate being sick and feeling like I'm whiny. I want to complain, cry and moan and have someone just hold me, put a washcloth on my head and haul away the mountain of tissues next to my bed. I want someone to cook for me, bring me hot healing fluids and tell me what's good for me. I want someone to tell me that it's going to get better and that the past nine months of recurrent illness aren't the sign of something worse. I want to turn off my doctor's brain and not think about my own health for 5 minutes.

I want my mom.