How I didn't laugh my way thru'... and should
I haven't been blogging for the past few days because I didn’t feel up to it (3 guesses why – what else?) and because I was sick, and I was sick. And still sick. Why? You might ask. What happened?Ok. Here we go.
I had been nursing a dry and painful throat since last week, which I knew was a sign that if I didn’t take care, I would come down with a full-blown flu. So I managed to stall its arrival, of course, still hoping that it would go away.
It never went away. On Monday it decided to attack with full force and it took me by total surprise. Yes, guess what. Your body can renegade on you. Minus 10 points for me.
I was sneezing non-stop and my nose was dripping non-stop. Lucky for me, I’d just changed a new tissue box in the office! Yay! Add 10 points for me.
But I had a function on that day. And so I put on make-up. Minus 10 points. You know why?
Normally, when I’m sick, I don’t bother with make-up. Period. Because it’s bad enough to have to blow your nose non-stop the whole day. Why bother with make-up when it would have been rubbed off by mid-day? But I was vain. Because of the function.
One other reason I don’t bother with make-up on sick days, is because I instinctively knew that poor immune system and foreign chemical substance on sensitive skin is a huge No-No.
But I was vain. So I put on make-up.
After the function, it became clear that I wasn’t in a good shape. And I was dying to get rid of the make-up. I went to Watson and saw, by chance, BY CHANCE, Johnson & Johnson Facial Wipes. Yes, I bought it. And I used it in the car on the way back to the office. Truth be told, now that I think about it, it burned. I felt it burn but I kept on using it, even on my neck. Minus 20 points.
Back home that night I made a further blunder by using one of those DIY face masks. Still didn’t feel anything.
But I almost screamed the next morning when I woke up.
My face was full of little bumps. All over. Even on my temples and my neck. I panicked. I didn’t go to work. Excuse being that I was still suffering from the cold. Which was true. My nose was still dripping. But by evening the allergy was still there and showed no signs of abating. I drove to the doctor. He said it was a small matter and gave prescribed me a steroid cream and to keep my face clean.
The next morning it didn’t look better. In fact it was redder and blotchy. But I couldn’t avoid work. For two days I put the steroid cream but it showed no signs of subsiding. Finally I didn’t use it on Thursday and Friday, and my face began to show signs of swelling.
Yes, I now look like a chipmunk bent on storing enough food for two Holocaust winters! I can sometimes feel my face stretching to accommodate the swelling.
I went back to the doctor again on Saturday when I saw no signs of improvement. It was another doctor, a locam. He said that I should continue the cream as it prevents swelling. And he prescribed me two pills for the allergic effect-cum-swelling.
I feel it getting slightly better. The bumps have subsided, they no longer feel like rounded bumps, they feel flatter, more like those tar fillers that road repairers pour into the holes on the road. I suspect it will take quite a while to go back to its original state, because I’ve noticed that I don’t heal as well as I used to, especially when I get a cut or gash.
But it itches like Hell!
And to think that my cousin wanted to go bar-drinking on Sunday! I told her, ‘No way am I going out looking like this!’
And it doesn’t help that my mom has been lecturing and scolding me for my present condition.
“Why do you do this to yourself?!” Er, excuse me, I didn’t ASK for it to happen!
“You keep making blunder after blunder!” Er, helloo!! You’re the one making the big hoo-hah and it’s not a personal attack against you, for Christ’s sake! It’s my face! I should know how much of a mistake it was to use that facial wipe! I feel it!
Well, at least I’ve had a relatively peaceful (if you can forget that there is a cold way happening at home now) weekend. I read an old copy of Vogue, which I flinched from the magazine's library. I never knew that Vogue was such great reading material. I relearnt lots of words, ie., 'menage a trois', 'saturnine', 'malfeasance'. Gotta go look up other words though, like, 'L'Apres Midi d'un Faune', 'balletomane' and 'douceur de vie'. And ask some American friends about some slang, like, 'spiffy', 'bamboozled' and 'lemon'.
I’ve been reading my books for reviews in the magazine, since I trying to put a rush on the next issue.
I read 'Zen Meditations on Being a Mother' by Roni Jay. Nice. I think I might get this one for myself later on, in preparation for being a mother when I adopt. Later.
Also finished this book on surviving menopause by Jan King, called ‘When you’re Hot, you’re Hot’. It’s about how she laughed her way through menopause. And it’s really fun to read. I recommend it to women of all ages, well, certainly those who are of an age, who should start prepping themselves for eventual menopause.
You may or may not get it. But don’t count on genetics. My paternal grandmother had menopause and, as recounted by my mother, she went ballistic. Upon being hit by menopause, she actually packed her bags and moved to live in a motel for three days, during which, my grandfather begged her daily to return home.
I laughed. You may laugh too. But if it comes to your turn, trust me, you wouldn’t be laughing. Why do I say that?
My mother went through menopause herself. And trust me – not a ride in the park. She had hot flushes. Really hot. One minute she was wearing a blouse. The next she was wearing only her bra. In the confines of home, of course! But she was suffering; one minute she was fine, the next she was burning up.
But when I learnt that my maternal grandmother didn’t go through menopause, I’m crossing my fingers, my toes, and anything that can cross, in the hopes that I WILL NOT suffer this cursed affliction.
I’m hopeful. You know what they say about the ‘skipped generation’ syndrome.
Anyway, back to the book. I recommend it to women in their late twenties (sure, at this age you’re more concern with getting married and your career, but it’s not a bad time to read more), thirties (you already got the man and the career, isn't it time to start thinking about your health?), forties (ah-ha – you’re getting closer to that ‘blessed’ window of truth. Beware.), fifties (ok, it’s too late. But you could benefit from learning about your mood swings – it’s okay to want to scream ‘Off with his head!’ when your order of roast chicken rice becomes steamed chicken rice instead – and it’s okay to fantasise of castrating your husband when he hits mid-life crisis – another can of worms, wouldn’t you say?).
Don’t you just love menopause?
Frankly, I think menopause might be the greatest thing to happen to a woman, because of two things.
One, you don’t have anymore monthly blood flows. What more could a gurl ask for? No cramps. No bulky sanitary pads between the legs. No more leakages at night. No more stained panties. I could go on!
Two, you can have all the sex you want, because you won’t get pregnant! Yay!!!
If, of course, you don’t feel like killing people in your path.
If, you don’t get hot flushes.
If, you don’t get depressed and psychotic, like my paternal grandmother (I think my grandfather got off bloody easy, if you ask me! All she did was run away!).
And if, of course, your husband is totally supportive. Meaning he doesn’t moan and groan about waking up early to fix breakfast for the kids, and he doesn’t complain about chauffeuring them to tuition.
And if he doesn’t suddenly come home and say, ‘I’m sorry, honey, but I think I lost the spark in this relationship. I found someone else who lights me up’.
You want someone to light you up? Come closer… let me start up the stove. I’ll make you light up!
But I digress. What were we talking about again?
You know what? I suddenly realised that it isn't easy being a woman. She has to fight for her rightful place in the working force. And yet, she’s expected home in time to cook for the man, and to clean after the children. And with no word of complain or moaning. And then she has to take care of the children’s upbringing. If the child goes out of hand, the mother is to blame. This is where you hear mutterings such as, ‘No manners. The mother didn’t teach (child) properly. How shameful.’ Not to mention that she still has to jaga her looks, otherwise, one day her husband comes homes wanting a divorce (You’re tying me down) or she finds out from someone else that he has a mistress (who’s 20, drop dead gorgeous and with a waist). Heaven forbid if she should looked dumpy and frumpy. She needs a paperbag over her head. You know, the old bats are to blame also. Chinese words-of-wisdom like ‘Can cook well in the kitchen, is presentable in the living room, and can satisfy in bed’ don’t help at all.
Oh dear, where was I?
Oh well!
Tomorrow’s Monday. And I still look like that chipmunk on pre-winter stock-up frenzy. Oh, God!! Let the swelling go down more tonight while I sleep… PLEASE!
posted by Jennirhiow @ 11:32 pm
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