On Sickness
Yesterday I posted about sick blogging. I asked questions. I asked the questions, really, because I don't think they have universal answers.
Sickness, illness, is intensely personal. Even in the instances where there is an epidemic or a pandemic or a family afflicted with something malign, the sickness is a sickness of one individual. Others can be of comfort. Others can sympathize. Others can, as I said, even have the same illness. But if you are sick, you don't usually much care what's happening to anyone else. A flu that makes both ends projectile active will put you off caring about much of anything else. Except death - there are times you'll really, really want that.
Of course, that are those who have acquired some affliction which comes to give a kind of definition to their lives. Lance Armstrong, for all his success in the saddle, has devoted himself to battling cancer. And that's a good thing. Worth blogging about even. And there are those who blog about health issues they pursue - losing weight for example (congrats to Brian Tiemann on his success, in fact). And that's well and good too. But such pursuits are not transient events. Sickness is.
So I am disinclined to post about illness, now that I have actively considered the idea of sick blogging. I posted the first post simply as a point of information. And, in point of information, I'm mostly over what I had. And thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster for that. So, what say you, reader, about the idea of sickness blogging? Is it worth venting about how gawd-awful one feels? Is mankind benefited in any way when someone gives chapter and verse about the frailty of the house of the soul?