I rarely ever get sick. I get seasonal allergies and a cold every once in a while, but in my short twenty-two years, I could count how many times I remember actually being ill on one hand. Because of this, when I do feel sick, it’s a can’t-eat, can-barely-sleep, can’t-move-out-of-my-bed kind of sick. The last time I experienced that kind of suffering was three years ago.

(…And now I hope that I didn’t just jinx it.)

Because this phenomena of sorts rarely happens, I don’t really bother telling anybody about it when it does. The only time I do is when I think it’s serious, so I tell my parents, but otherwise—what’s the point? I don’t enjoy being catered or babied, so there is absolutely no reason to bother, in my opinion. Just tell me what I have to do or take, and I’ll do it. If I can move.

That last time, three years ago, was definitely the worst time I had ever been sick. I woke up that morning completely sore, unable to move from my bed. Thankfully it was during summer vacation in between my freshman and sophomore college years, so I didn’t have a job or school to worry about. I was sweaty and in pain and I just wanted to sleep the pain away (which is my remedy for most things). I wouldn’t eat, and when Oma finally found out that I hurt to even move, she tried to bring me chicken noodle soup. She made me a bowl, and handfed me one spoonful of broth—which only happened to come right back up a couple of minutes later. I gave her such a hard time.

It was the worst day of my life, hands down.

I would rather I just get over it my way rather than have anyone try to help, when it’s actually pretty pointless. I’m super cranky when I’m sick, like I would think most people are, so I’m definitely not a pleasure to be around at the time. (I also just can’t deal with people in the first place a lot of the time, so I guess that doesn’t help, either.) When it comes to asking for help—I’ve done that twice, both times when I physically injured myself rather than actually being sick. I honestly don’t know what it would take me to ask for help.

(I guess I’ll find out when that happens.)

I would definitely say that “soldiering on” is my go-to. I can’t help it; I don’t like people near me when I’m sick, and when I do get sick, I just want to let it happen, hopeful that I won’t get sick again for a long time afterwards. Thankfully, that kind of thing only lasts about a day anyway, so it’s not like I’m sick for more than 24 hours—so that’s a good thing.

Honestly, I’ll take being really sick for a day every once in a while over being mildly sick all the time. Half the time, I think people that are always sick fake it for attention, and the other half of the time, I’m like, how can you even live like that?

Prompt: When you’re unwell, do you allow others to take care of you, or do you prefer to soldier on alone? What does it take for you to ask for help?