I don’t seem to get sick often. Working at home as I do, I am not prone to catch whatever seems to be going around the office or am susceptible to strange strains of viruses that you can count on finding you if you spend any time passing through O’Hare.

And, living alone as I do, I am not likely to be a victim of Familius Streptococcus, the endless passing back and forth of an infection between family members or roommates. But it’s not like I’m totally immune either.

The stresses of planning and throwing a party the other week, a few nights without much sleep, and let’s not forget the brutal winter temperatures – and it shouldn’t have been surprising that I started to feel a tickle in my throat the other day.

Oh this is terribly bad timing, was my first thought, as if any time to get sick is better than another time.

I started to ruminate over strategies to nip the congestion, achiness and fatigue that was taking hold of me in the bud before daring to admit having a full-blown cold.

I perused the shelves of my medicine cabinet, careful to read the expiration dates on the colorful plastic bottles of Nyquil and tiny boxes of Ibuprofen that probably were not cracked since last winter. I started popping zinc lozenges. I looked in the back of my freezer for any forgotten Tupperware containers of chicken soup.

In the morning, I did my best to clear my calendar for the day. I made the few calls I had to make right away and checked for any emails, marked in red, awaiting a quick response. Then I decided I had no choice but to surrender.

I made a cup of hot tea and placed it on a cork coaster on my nightstand. I rolled my bedroom TV towards the center of the room in case I felt like observing some afternoon Jeopardy. I found the novel I had been meaning to finish and tossed it near my pillow.

I decided I was going to spend most of the day in bed.

My feet, stuffed snuggly in my sock slippers, came to bed with me. I resigned myself to spend the immediate time ahead of me watching mindless game shows, reading a fictional character’s story, and dozing off.

I stopped thinking about my current project, cleaning the house, and pulling papers together for tax preparation.

It’s hard to let go of thinking that you have to be doing something. It’s hard sometimes not to think that your will is supposed to outshout what your body is trying to tell you. It’s especially hard when you work for yourself – to take a sick day.

Ah, but it’s so good when guilt takes a holiday. I had to smile at myself because I decided to listen to my own higher wisdom. I actually honored my impulse to make taking care of myself my first priority.

Allowing yourself a day to spend in bed reading a novel and drinking hot tea, is no small thing.