Swallowed

You know when you’re going through a period of your life where you just can’t seem to catch a break? It’s easy to wallow when you’re having a rough time of it, even more so when life seems to kick you in the shins just as you appear to be emerging from your current spiritual and existential funk.

Yesterday was pretty rotten, as you could probably tell from the tenor of my post. I was feeling very down about my work and my health. Today, I spoke to two people about the latter – my GP, and a medical student on a forum I frequent who knew a bit about my existing condition. Between the pair of them – my GP finally seeming to open up a little and give me more information, the kind I really needed to hear – they managed to put my mind at ease a little. I still have ongoing concerns, but I’m not nearly as anxious as I was.

Of course, it wasn’t to last: since then, my reflux seems to have reappeared with a vengeance, my throat becoming incredibly sore, while at one point on the phone to my dad this evening I found myself literally unable to swallow. I’m still struggling to do so now – it’s a real effort, and when you’re in a situation where you’ve got saliva and a small amount of mucus in the back of your throat (which constantly feels like it needs clearing) it’s very discomfiting.

I’ve taken some paracetamol and a spoonful of honey, to little avail. As I type this, I feel the need to keep gulping, but every time I really have to force it; it’s just not coming naturally at all. And thus, the cycle of worry starts all over again.

Hopefully I’ll have a decent night’s sleep tonight – I’m certainly tired enough that I should drift off as soon as head hits pillow – and tomorrow my throat won’t feel quite like someone’s taken a Stanley knife to it. Though I can’t help thinking if it does go away, there’ll be something else along to replace it.

Hey ho. We soldier on. Goodnight, readers.

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