I hate being ill.

Not just for the discomfort of having a cough, but for all that it entails. For the last four days, I've had an epic cough. The dry, racking cough that has you bent over and trying desperately to bring up that something that makes your lungs feel like stone. The cough that  makes your ribs ache, the blood vessels in your head stand out and your eyes to turn bloodshot. The cough that has you continually smelling of Vicks Vaporub and ginger powder. THAT cough.
Now, I could have lived with that if it were not for the timing. After two weeks of being apart, Mian and I had planned to meet for half a day. After that, the next 'together' time is the middle of March. And so, this was a supposed to be a fun day-nudge nudge, wink wink. Hah. Read the first paragraph again.
It's not just this day, of course. Before he left, I had tonsilitis. If not my throat, it 's my back. I want to be his sunshine, not his patient! Bless him, HE is eternally patient and kind and understanding. But that is not the situation I want. Is that too much to ask? I hate this.
And doctors don't understand when you tell them you'll come to them for a treatment next week, but right now you want a mask for your symptoms. Grump  Grump  Hack.