my immune system, epic fail

Somehow I've managed to get sick again, the second time in two months, and I haven't left the condo since I got home from work on Thursday. There's a very Howard Hughesian feel to the whole affair, with my yin boiling up pots of ginger, cayenne pepper, and lemon juice to take the edge off the razor blades lodged in my throat.

 Sounds like something Hughes himself would try...

But this is beside the point.

The point is that I'm very, very disappointed in my immune system. I've been eating well, going to bed at a reasonable hour, and even visiting a personal trainer for my weekly torture session.  And yet, in spite of all this, somehow I've been coughing and snorting and headaching all over the apartment for going on 72 hours.

What is the cause of this malady?

I don't know, and as a result of this not-knowing I find myself searching both absurd answers (that my illness is a manifestation of some underlying metaphysical shortcoming) and logical explanations (that one of my 20+ consultations at the writing center this week happened to be with Typhoid Mary).

Neither of these scenarios, however, adequately assuage my sense of dis-ease. Not the physical sensations of having a cold or flu or strep or whatever it is, but rather the mental agitation of wanting to understand the underlying cause of these symptoms. The logic (so seductive) is that if I knew what caused this illness, I could somehow take action to remedy it.  This problem-solution model is attractive because it allows to hold on to the illusion: I am in control.

The reality, of course, is that the control have over our own lives is far less than we like to imagine.  To draw an automotive analogy, the influence we exert is not comparable to that of a hand on a steering wheel, but rather to the foot on the pedals. In other words, we have less control over our destination than how quickly or slowly we get there.

This is not to say we are helpless, in fact, far from it.  Our choices slowly pile one on top of the other, subtly shifting our destination from where we were to where we are going.  But the large changes in direction, the sudden jerks of the wheel, are exceptions rather than the rule.  And, if my own experiences have taught me anything (which is itself a topic open to debate), it's that yanking the wheel is far more likely to cause disasters than miracles.

(I think the Buddha called this concept the Middle Path...)

So for the time being, I'm doing my best just to feel the weight of the accelerator pushing back against my foot: plenty of water, hot veggie soup, copious vitamin C, and lots of rest. I know my ultimate destination is a return to full health, and the sooner I get there, the sooner I will be ready to return to the impossibly busy week filling up the small squares of my calendar...