There's a particularly unpleasant thing about being sick, for me, and that's losing a sense of my independence. In the middle of the night when I'm huddled on the bathroom floor with a cold compress trying to stave off ear-buzzing fever swells moaning and wailing, I used to just rock and rock on cool tiles until it broke. I didn't wait for anyone to crack the door. Bring me cold glasses of water. Carry me to the couch when everything decided to stop. I didn't feel useless and out of sorts when my partner was out of phone range to hush my aches. Somehow I was stronger then. In some memory version of me. Some card carrying soldier of pain. In days when I could close the door when I showered, even if I passed out. Dropped all the bottles on their heads. When there wasn't always someone in earshot.