If you noticed slightly fewer baby panda-related posts on The Frisky last week, your eyes were not deceiving you. I was out sick, or I guess I should say “in” sick, because all I did was sleep, read Gone Girl, and sleep some more.
Because I’ve been a recluse from society and have no idea what’s going on — apparently Ryan Gosling sells knives on QVC now!?!?— all I have to tell you about today is my observations on the best/worst parts of being sick. Keep reading »
One of the upsides to being a nurse is that I can generally tell you WHY you feel a certain way. One of the downsides is that I can generally tell you WHY you feel a certain way, which is why I rarely mention my medical background to people who don’t know me. After that one weird time on the train when someone wanted to show me their rash, I’m a little wary.
But you’ve got some weird symptoms going on, right? And maybe you’re scared because you don’t know what they mean and you’re REALLY hoping you don’t end up on an episode of “House.” Here are some possible reasons for your your bizarre and inexplicable symptoms. Read more…
Colvin Jang was looking for a way to make his terminally ill friend Nachu’s dream come true, and using the power of the online community of Reddit, he was able to make that happen. You see, Nachu was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma, and was told that he may not live past June. The final book in his favorite book series, The War That Came Early by Harry Turtledove, isn’t supposed to be released until July. So Colton went above and beyond, and begged, pleaded and bargained with Reddit users to help him reach the author. Amazingly, in less than six hours, he was put in touch with Turtledove, who very obligingly sent Nachu an early copy of the book and spoke with him by phone. How friggin’ cool is that? We should all be so lucky to have friends like Colton — and props especially to Mr. Turtledove for the take the risk of spoiling the release of his book for a sick fan.
I’m 25 and earlier this year I was diagnosed with a chronic illness that I’ve yet to really get a handle on. It’s been very emotional for me to say the least, and to top it off I feel like I’ve been somewhat abandoned by my friends. The thing is, I know they’re all lovely people — it just seems like they get uncomfortable/unsure of what to say when I talk about my illness, so they think it’s best not to mention it at all or something. I’ve expressed to a few of them that it’s helpful for me to just be able to get the feelings off my chest once in a while, yet no one really seems to be making much of an effort to hear about it. I hate to be a Negative Nancy and certainly don’t want to talk about my illness all the time … I just want to know that my friends care. Am I going about this the wrong way? Is this not the type of thing that friends talk to each other about these days? My mom and boyfriend seem to think I should stop trying to get support on this from friends, but I don’t want to lean on them alone. — Not-So-Positive Pollyanna
The first time I noticed my fingers changing colors was my junior year of high school. It was January and I had just finished my last final for the semester. I was outside with a group of my friends waiting for my dad to pick me up when I looked down at my hands. They were pale white and they hurt, bad. They felt like they were burning, but burning like when you touch something that’s too cold. I tried to blow on them to warm them up because they felt like ice. Then they began to turn blue. As the pain continued, my dad told me with a straight face not to worry, that my fingers were just falling off. Then he had to calm me down after I convinced myself I had frost bite and was going to be fingerless. Keep reading »
When I’m ill, I drink whiskey. More specifically, a hot toddy, otherwise known as “Irish Nyquil.” My beloved local bartender from North Ireland taught me her old family recipe — just hot water, a couple jiggers of whiskey, and lemon wedges studded with cloves. One of those, spicy Kung Pao chicken, and bed. I behave like a dying animal when I’m sick. I like to suffer alone, in the dark. I hate to be fussed over. Can’t you see I’m in mortal combat with the sniffles?!
This frustrates my girlfriend because she sees it as unfair. Well, life is unfair, Toots. When I fall ill, she wants to rush to my apartment and dote on me. Nurture me back to health. And I refuse to let her. I can’t stand being pampered. It drives me crazy. I am a man. Like Batman. And if Batman can sew his own wounds shut in his crime-fighting bunker, I can blow my nose in bed without help from anyone. For the record: I blow my nose with toilet paper, not “Kleenex,” the way the cavemen did. I appreciate her attentions, of course. But it’s my fight. Keep reading »
My honey bunny threw out his back this weekend moving heavy boxes into our new apartment and literally couldn’t move unassisted for 48 hours. Despite my lack of qualifications for the job, I became the de facto meal-maker, bath-giver, walker-to-the-bathroom, and all around nursemaid.
Luckily for us both, I passed the Not Nurse Ratched test with flying colors. He’s back on his feet, albeit in a shuffle-y, wobble-y kind of way.
I’ve heard that saying that if a couple really wants test its compatibility, they should go on a week long vacation to a foreign country together. But actually, I think one partner nursing the other back to health is a better indication! Surprise, surprise, you don’t need a nurse’s uniform (though he’d probably like that) to take care of a sick dude. But you do need love, patience…and a bulls**t detector. Keep reading »
Devil get behind me, it’s cold and flu season. Maybe it’s because I grew up with a mom who refused to categorize any of her five kids as officially “sick” unless fluids were exploding and the temperature hit well into the hundreds, but I am not the person you want taking care of you when you’re not feeling well. Conversely, when I’m under the weather, the first thing out of my boyfriend’s mouth is always an offer to rub my chest down with alcohol just like his Greek mama used to do when he was a kid. No, thanks!
I’ve found there are two types of patients—the cranks and the crybabies. I’m more of a crank. I want glasses of cold water, complete silence for the duration, and whatever medications I’m taking within arm’s reach. Don’t talk to me if you don’t want to get yelled at. Keep reading »
We’re not sure if the British NHS (National Health Service) is just trying to lower their state health care costs or get their employees laid, but the agency is saying that having sex is a cure-all catch-all, lowering your risks for everything from heart disease, cancer, and osteoporosis to the common cold. Ha! Finally proof that being slutty is good for you. (DUH!) But to get the full benefits of sexercise, as we ladies know, it’s got to be a release for both of you. And doing it right will even save you money on products. According to the NHS, orgasms prevent wrinkles from deepening, burn 300 calories an hour, make your hair shiny, and your skin smooth. O, it’s magic all right! [BBC] Keep reading »
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