notes from my sick bed

that strange place of lost time

I’m just recovering from a tummy bug that came out of nowhere and rather flattened me. Rather than the slow ooh, I think I’m feeling a bit unwell, I might have an early night… it went from ooh, I’m a bit achy to wham, temperature, and, well, let’s leave the rest to the imagination!

But I wanted to write about that strange place you find yourself in when you’re poorly. Actually, I should say, the place I find myself in. I suppose I can’t talk for you!

First and foremost, there’s the dominance of the illness of course, but running alongside is the expanse of time that opens up. Instead of every moment of my day being filled with a forward momentum. Ok, I’m awake: what next? I’ve had breakfast: next! Suddenly there are no rituals to punctuate the day. It feels like time has splintered, meandered, wobbled…cracked.

 And with that come fragments of myself, that have maybe been hibernating. They feel a little bit like an old friend; maybe it’s the familiarity of it - moments of your past self echoing through time. there’s definitely something childlike about it. It feels vulnerable, unnerving, but there’s almost something comforting about it. Memories of being tucked into bed by mum or dad, wet flannels on the head. I remember my dad used to say that there was a battle going on inside me between the virus and my immune system, and I had to cheer the good guys! And I used to imagine a magnificent battle scene going on with clashing swords, horses and spears. And is there anything much more comforting than feeling the bed sink as your mum, dad or carer sits on the side of your bed?

And with the space that’s opened up - time empty of anything other than the illness - all these extra thoughts and feelings emerge. I remember little details from my childhood, like how utterly devoted I was to cereal. The complexities of it. Weetabix: the milk goes in, then you quickly turn it over in the milk, so the top is wet, to receive the sugar. Then you add at least 2 spoonfuls of sugar and watch as it slowly soaks up the milk. Then there’s the timing. You want them to be soft, but not soggy. Crucial. Rice crispies and (and if you’re lucky, for us it was mainly from a Selection pack on holiday) Cocoa Pops: you just have to eat really fast before they go soggy. Similar with cornflakes and Frosties*, they’re timing critical, speed is of the essence if you want all that crunch. Those last few soggy ones: yuk!! And Shedded Wheat… they’re one to eke out, pour the milk, turn, add sugar (much like Weetabix) then… wait! Was there a little bit of tentative squishing? Just the right amount of time… Then the perfect stringy crunch, the satisfaction of the spoon breaking it up. Ahh, Shredded Wheat! The delicacy of the cereal world! Weirdly, I never eat cereal anymore! Ever!

But there’s something else,  everything feels intense - is that the word I want? Meaningful somehow. I sort of feel like I remember how whole me feels for a bit. Does that make sense? I thought this would be easy to write, but maybe it is too hard…

I’m used to spending a fair bit of time alone, but I’m normally busy, doing things, going somewhere, with a reason to move from point A to point B, reflecting on what just happened, what might happen next. But when you are ill, that all sort of goes. Yes, I suppose there are a lot of thoughts about the illness: if I take this paracetamol now, will I have enough to last me through the night? (I spent quite a long, foggy, fever fuelled moment working out how to make 8 paracetamol work over 24 hours, without too many long shivery gaps in between. I did lots of counting on my fingers and in the end realised I’d not accounted for a crucial 4-hour period, and spent most of the day hot and shivering, waiting for the next hot spot!) And I do fill the time. I’ve binged two TV series (Colin from Accounts. Sweet, funny,  enjoyed it. The Detectorists. I really enjoyed this! That lovely mixture of atmosphere, empathetic characters, wry humour and just lovely and feel-good) and read quite a hefty book (The Little Friend. I found the ending a bit disappointing, but I absolutely love Donna Tartt’s writing so much, she writes about how it feels to be alive so well! Such beautifully crafted sentences, and totally immersive worlds. I’ve loved all of her books and can forgive a disappointing ending. And I think I will grow to be less disappointed with it as time passes. I need to ponder…)

I find that I go to a slightly different version of myself. One that feels more connected with my whole life’s experiences than I think I normally make space for. More perspective, less crowded with thoughts, tasks, distractions, and I’m left with just…me. 

You know that old classic: when you’re moaning to your parents about being bored, and they say “good! It’s good to be bored! You’ll find something interesting to do!” I know it’s been said a million times, but the world we live in now just fills all the cracks in. I think we need to leave space, let time open up a bit, let the parts of ourselves that are waiting for a safe space to emerge! It’s nice to really feel yourself again, in a funny sort of way, even through the illness.

To bring it back to art, as this is a creative newsletter, I think the more that we fill our time with doom scrolling, busyness, the less space there is for our minds to wander, for our whole selves to be present. And isn’t that a crucial ingredient to making art? I find I have my best ideas when I am daydreaming, letting my mind wander, doing mindless things. When I am teaching, I often tell the students to make sure they give themselves space to let the ideas percolate, and not to stay too “busy” always. I think this will always be a constant theme for me - creating space - and being ill has reminded me of it again. As horrible as this illness has been - and it’s been quite a corker - I’m reminded of it again.

Anyway, I was halfway through a more art-related post when I came down with this bug, and as I don’t have the energy to sit at a desk and continue to write it, I had the urge to try and capture this feeling a bit. I’ve written this on my phone and only given this a light edit, but it’s helped pass the time a bit, and I hope it makes sense!

How about you? I’d love to know if this resonates with you, or are these totally fever fuelled thoughts?

Ella xx

*see Cocoa Pops

P.S. I’ll finish that half-finished piece once I feel better, and I am halfway through a process video I filmed of me painting in the garden. That shows how quickly it came on. I filmed it on the same day I got a fever of 38.6!