I arrived at St. Benedict’s Monastery a week ago Monday, for ten days of uninterrupted work trying to finish the book I’m writing on my conversion from Catholicism to Buddhism and back to Catholicism. This is my sixth or seventh visit to the Monastery in the last three or so years and I always get a ton done when I’m here. The Sisters tease me about how focused I am on my writing and editing, breaking only for prayer and meals.
Thursday I woke up feeling miserable. I don’t think I had a fever, but my head was clogged, my nose was an open faucet and I felt awful. Dayquil allowed me to get some hours of work done, but I was not as focused I as would like. Friday was better than Thursday, Saturday better than Friday and yesterday I thought I had it licked.
Yesterday morning I woke up feeling worse than I had on Thursday. I’m pretty sure I had fever (the chills were my clue that might be the case) and although I got some work done, I had to stop twice for long rest breaks.
My first thought at all of this was,”This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m here to work, not be sick. I need this time.”
Except of course, that it did, and that I did is completely our of my control My only choice in this is to add mental anquish to my physical discomfort by fuming about how unfair it is that I got sick or to accept that it is what it is. I will get done as much as I can. It may not be as much as I wanted (although my husband reminded me on the phone that no matter how much I get done is it never as much as I would have wanted), but it will be all I can do.
And that is all I can do.