I hate being sick. It wasn’t like that when I was a kid. There was real comfort in being sick, in the quiet of my bedroom, in the care of my mother, the sheets and blankets tight over my legs, the TV table over the bed, the tiny black and white television within reach. I was obsessive with the game shows in the morning – Gambit, High Rollers, Match Game, The Joker’s Wild! I stared blankly at the talk shows in the afternoon – Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas, Dinah Shore. I ate rusks and honey, drank ginger ale, and read Watership Down cover to cover. And then I got the blankets pulled back tight.