The past few days have witnessed a hobbling Quasimodo climbing up into the tower to look after an ailing Esmeralda. Crookbacked and crablike I’ve ventured up the stairs, trying to tempt my beloved with a few hot drinks and the occasional poached meal. My Esmeralda’s complexion seems to keep ringing the changes between flushed and drained, as she shivers whilst simultaneously burning up. I actually find it quite disturbing when ma belle is reluctant to take on board either fluids or solids, yet at times she’s even finding it difficult to quaff sufficient water to aid the swallowing and absorbing of the paracetamol. In more normal times I suspect that the reservoirs must have difficulty in providing the copious volumes of liquid consumed by my good lady.
On the positive side, although I’ve not ventured outside of these four walls, I’m getting plenty of exercise – against my backs resistance and legs reluctance – as I tread the stairs. My beloved keeps saying that she shouldn’t feel so rotten because it’s only a virus; meantime, I keep thinking a virus is only a bug that the medicos fail to understand and are unable to deal with!
Spasmodic doses of co-codamol, together with rubs of ibuprofen gel, seem to keep the worst of my back pain in check, though neither supplies an adequate counter to the occasional locking of the spine.
2 comments:
Best wishes to you and your Esmeralda. I feel a quickened spirit as I read about your care for yourself and her and that you call her "my beloved".
Hope by now you are both feeling better, and that you are given the health and strength to look after Helen. I thought that it was unusual not to see either of you about.
Wishing you a speedy recovery
John
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