Prednisone

This morning, over a cup of tea and a hacking cough, I really thought things over: my life, my blogs, and my wheezy lungs. 

And then I read some things over — specifically, my blogs — and I noticed how optimistically I ended my last written piece: I plan on taking some time to rest, but I’ll be back before you know it. 

I didn’t plan on going silent for six weeks, but in that time, I have been ill twice with respiratory viruses. Both of which have aggravated my asthma and have resulted in nebulizer treatments, inhalers, and my most-hated-but-reliable-friend, prednisone. 

Prednisone is an oral steroid that reduces inflammation and represses the immune system. It makes you bloated, tired, and sad. Which is to say I feel bloated, tired, and sad. 

Naturally, I’ve spent a lot of time at home in 2025. Even on New Year’s Eve, only days after my last blog went up, Aleksa and I came down with a cold. Instead of wearing our evening best and sipping champagne, we downed Nyquil and argued over the song “Auld Lang Syne” in our pajamas. Aleksa claimed he had never heard it before, to which I said that’s not true and named six movies he’s seen that feature the song. 

This resulted in us feverishly-fast-forwarding to the scenes in those movies just to prove my point — movies like It’s A Wonderful Life and When Harry Met Sally and Elf. The whole time we did that, the sound of fireworks popped in the sky just beyond our window. But the sound was faint — hardly discernible to our congested, aching ears. 

It feels pathetic to be sick on the holidays. I was sick for Thanksgiving, New Year’s, and recently, Valentine’s Day. When I’m sick and on prednisone, I tend to do the same things: play Animal Crossing, play chess, watch rom-coms, order lemon soup from our local Greek place, ignore my texts, and take hot showers. 

I feel guilty not writing despite having so much time to write. Same with reading. But for whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to do either when I’m sick. I’m like this about phone calls, social media, and texts, too. When I’m sick, I retreat to the corner of my bedroom that is sometimes known as “my office” and distance myself from everyone and everything. (This is because, admittedly, I feel very afraid during an asthma flare up.)

Likewise, I have a lot of time to think, which can be a good thing and a bad thing. I think about all the questions I’d wished I’d asked my great-grandmother when she was alive. I think about people I’m not really close with anymore and wonder if they’re doing okay. I think about pregnancy: I try to imagine being sick for nine months. This panics me, so I end up on Reddit or some 2009 web forum about people who are “fencesitting” on wanting kids. I wonder if this is me, if I’m a “fencesitter.” I touch the word on my screen as if it’s braille that can be physically felt and therefore transcend meaning onto me — an epiphany — that will make everything suddenly obvious. 

I guzzle Gatorade and then Google “best Gatorade flavors.” I read some 2014 Buzzfeed list ranking worst to best Gatorade flavors (“blue” always comes in 1st). I watch a movie in multiple parts on TikTok and find myself complaining with the comments, “where is part 23?!” I add things to my Amazon cart that I’m not going to buy, things like ultra-fine tweezers and rainboots, even though I could use them.

When I’m sick, I also like to imagine all the things I will do when I’m not sick. I save the name of fancy restaurants I’m likely not going to dine in. I catalogue away recipes that will probably take months for me to get around to cooking. My current obsession is saving vintage Easter decor to a Pinterest board to inspire my April dining table. 

The last few days, I’ve found myself even rewatching old vlog footage from Serbia — I have a lot of content from last January that I never officially made into a vlog. That’s because halfway through the trip, Aleksa’s grandfather unfortunately passed away, so everything took a very sad turn. But now that there’s some distance, I’m thinking some of the footage could be salvaged. There’s a lot of wholesome and happy memories that could do our families some good to see. 

As I type this right now, I’m messily eating a bowl of shoyu ramen while my brother and I play a game of virtual checkers. This makes me feel a bit like a kid. (Or maybe it’s because I have replaced Aleksa’s side of the bed with a large, stuffed animal from Build-a-Bear while he sleeps on the couch).

But I’m working from “my office” and the sun is setting after 5:30 P.M. … I can see across the entirety of my neighborhood, even through the bone-dry tree branches all the way to the tall, pointy building peeking through the clouds in the distance: the Empire State Building. And as cheesy as it is, that tall, beacon of hope in the sky makes everything feel possible when you live in New York City. 

Even when you’re ‘roided up.

That American Girl