The Creeping Crud

Just no. I never get sick, do you hear me? No, I mean it. I have told you a dozen times I have amazing antibodies. Oh…I’m sorry.

Did you think I was yelling at you? No…I am yelling at myself, trying in vain to circumvent my twelfth day of the creeping crud.

My stellar record of health bit the dust last week. I am not looking to lay blame, as we are all unwitting carriers in one way or another.

I am just looking to catch a break here. Once my defenses went down, like a blowtorch through tissue paper, things tried really hard to spin right out of control.
I am throwing down a flag on this play, calling some unnecessary roughness and piling on.

It started out as a sinus cold, dripping, dripping, dripping. I saline rinsed and zinc-lozenged my little heart out, feeling world’s better after just three days. Turns out this little virus was just laying low waiting for me to get cocky.

I did and by the end of that same week, I was snorting and hawking even worse than before.

I obediently took my weary, silly self to the Sunday afternoon clinic for something to end the phlegm-o-rama. Hours late, I dropped like a rock with some sort of 24-hour flu virus.

I ignored my aches and general misery right up until I was half dressed for work Monday morning. But as I raced to the bathroom, all orifices threatening to erupt simultaneously, I knew things had changed. There’s nothing quite like it, is there? It had been years since I had dealt with a full crawling-on-the-floor-back-to-bed meltdown. I really hope it will be years again…or never. Never’s good.

I was up and generally at-em by Tuesday, and have to admit I almost enjoyed one day of daytime TV and sleeping. But of course, one pays for one’s dilly-dallying, even just 24 hours worth, when one returns to find one’s duties piled sky high and one’s email box flowing over. And that reminded me sharply why I will continue to knock myself out to be the healthiest gal you know.

I’ll take a good holiday anytime, when I am hitting on all cylinders, but having to stay home sick just isn’t the free pass it once was. Such is the price of growing up and of a pleasant but busy existence. Put it on my tab.

Jean Gillette is a freelance writer inordinately fond of antihistamines and equally weary of coughing just now.

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