What Would Elizabeth Barrett Browning Do?
Living with Illness is won by style and attitude
Being sick is stupid and I hate being sick.
It’s not the kind of sick where you have a really cool disease, like your friends come to your house to sympathize and stare at you from a respectful distance - or if you’ve really scored the sickness lottery, the kind of disease that makes them bring you ice cream. No, this is the kind of sickness that makes everyone else want you to hide and be disgusting in isolation, one that brings coughs and sniffles and squashed paper tissues.
My Father never got sick this way. His body was a Temple: he fumigated it regularly with Tobacco, sacrificed blood-rare steaks to it, then burned away the impurities with a well-measured two fingers of Whiskey. He swore this worked, right up til the end when Cancer took him, but he was otherwise healthy except for that part. My Mother, on the other hand, was one with Healthful Living; she exercised regularly, did not partake of the Devil’s Brew, and ate Wheat Germ sprinkled on Bean Sprouts. Of course, she was sick all the time, eternally at war with first diabetes, then emphysema, and still somehow managed to live joyfully into her eighties. This taught me a valuable lesson:
Nature doesn’t care.
It pays to not poison oneself, but one can do everything right and still manage to come down with various conditions. This may seem unfair, and it is: in a perfect world, people who care for their bodies should get Karmic Brownie points for effort, but they don’t. The most conscientious of Health Objectors wither and perish in their prime, while unrepentant winos smoke a pack of Luckies a day and live to be one hundred.
This unfairness brings me to my present state.
My body never met a bacteria it didn’t like. From my very earliest days, my Earthly Temple has been a luxury Hotel for various forms of tiny life, a welcoming and accepting place where any Virus or Amoeba can find warmth and shelter. And it’s not enough for me to invite them in one time - I am the Queen of Repeat Business for Baddies. You had Chicken Pox once? Pshaw, you amateur; I’ve had Chicken Pox three times - twice as an adult.
This has led well meaning friends and relatives to inundate me with supplements. An Alphabet of Vitamins from A to Zinc grace my table; my kitchen is a smorgasbord of greens and veggies, bursting with healthful produce and free-range eggs. We’re awash in non-sweetened sparkling waters and herbal teas - and it shows. My skin and hair are absolutely glowing with health as I lay here suffering from whatever latest Microbe has decided to come visit.
So with that in mind, I have decided if I can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
I can feel sorry for myself, it’s true; being sick is no fun. But I have decided to visualize the virtues of Life lived as an all-inclusive Resort for Wayward Viruses. I can either cry about it, or I can take advantage of it: I have the perfect excuse to write and illustrate in solitude, uninterrupted by the duties that plague the Healthy. I also have an excuse to become the next Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She lived a life of tragic ebullience, surrounded by adoring fans and ardent poets, and died fashionably while in Florence. But how does one invoke that spirit of Fragile Dissolution without becoming a needy lump? One must ask: What Would Elizabeth Barrett Browning Do?
Just look at her. Elizabeth Barrett Browning is fixing to sneeze, she has dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn’t care a whit. She’s fabulous and she knows it.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning would:
Wear something awesome while being sick. Lace is a must, as it bespeaks fragility and delicacy while Leopard Print speaks of the scandalous luxury of being in bed during the day.
Sit upon a pile of brocade pillows. This is not negotiable. Lean back from time to time and rest upon them, looking ravishable while thinking of plot devices and romances.
Have a fancy cup from which to drink hot beverages. It should look appropriately writerly, and be constantly filled with hot tea or flavoured coffee. A wine glass is appropriate only if church ladies are not coming over - if church ladies are inbound, the wine must be disguised in a Jelly Jar, and mislabelled as Sweet Tea.
Snacks must be not crumbly, as that disturbs the cleanliness of the bed. The only exemption for this is cake, because it is cake and it gets a pass.
Have a lovely bed desk with a flower. Even if you are too sick to write, lay out a pen and paper just to look good. Extra points if you scribble Haiku in curly script, just to impress people.
Bear cheerfully the martyrdom of washing dishes and laundry while sick. It still has to be done… make it count by thinking of Heaven, where all clothes are already folded, and every dish is already clean.
Flaunt your accomplishments. Make certain to post it so people can see you are not merely slacking - be an Author! Make words!
Having pondered what the Mistress of Sickness did to overcome pesky consumptive illnesses while living her best life, I have decided to embrace my fragility rather than reject it. It’s no sin to admit we are flawed and fragile; doing our best to overcome difficult circumstances sometimes means we must ride the wave rather than fight it, and see where the wave carries us.
~~~~~
Let the winds howl round about, and waves crash on the shore -
our time of Storm will someday cease, and we shall strive no more.
But recollection shall arise: what will the memory be
of Storm and Sail? Did Life prevail against the raging Sea?