I have never missed a teaching day because of illness (knock on wood). Plenty of days I’ve awoken with a sniffly nose, a scratchy throat, maybe even a little cough, or I might feel inexplicably fatigued. Whatever. It could be a little cold; it could be nothing, just a reaction to the dry air, the woodstove, the dusty house, “something in the air.” It might blossom into “sick,” maybe not, but I don’t think about it much.
This morning I was all packed up for a visit to my 9-day old granddaughter, but suddenly the uncertainty of my health plagued me. Am I getting sick? Is it nothing? The repercussions of being wrong are too significant. Reluctantly, I called it off.
Now that I’ve acknowledged the symptoms, rather than trying to explain them away, I am convinced I made the right move. But it’s amazing, this ache to be with my daughter, my son-in-law, and this tiny creature who has such a hold on my heart.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 85: 166 words, TOTAL = 14,238; 45,762 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families.