The banality of illness

In our compulsion to make sense of things, we often ascribe moral, spiritual, or philosophical meaning to illness. Usually, though, we make these ascriptions to someone else's illness. That person suffers from depression or has beaten cancer. Truth be told, however, our illnesses aren't that ennobling. They dull us and leave us feeling cheated. We're just sick and feel lousy. Me? I've got just a cold.
As I said, though, in others we imagine greater struggles. Marley's not doing well, not well at all. This is day four of not showing much interest in food. A black Lab with no interest in food is kinda like, well, kinda like nothing else because it happens so rarely.
He sleeps a lot, shallow breaths that make us stop to check that he truly is breathing. When he's not sleeping, he's just staring. I can put a peanut butter cracker on the floor near his nose and he shows no interest. If I cough, though, he raises his head. If I'm coughing a lot, he struggles to his feet and come over to me and wait to be assured that I'm ok. Then, he goes and lies down again.
We'll call the vet later this morning, but we're pretty sure we know the answers ahead. Damn.