By the time you read this, I hope I am either recovered or dead. As I write, I battle a hostile, hideous bully of a viral bug determined to flatten me with aches, chills, fever, coughing fits, and bad hair. Not to mention delirium. Ever since my husband discovered me studying the Kleenex box for directions, I take no responsibility for any delusions or inaccuracies you may uncover in this week’s blog, nor for any domestic violence that may ensue in your home should you choose to read it aloud.
In 2012, I unwittingly started a dumb tradition of beginning each new year with a virus…cold, flu, who knows? But after my 2013 bout, I did not contract a single such malady again until New Years, 2014. So I really can’t complain.
Well, actually, I can. Quite well.
In fact, I’ve done so much whining and whimpering with this one that I strongly suspect I have, against all odds, come down with none other than the dreaded MAN-flu. I wouldn’t be surprised if I could give any man a run for his money in the self-pity department. I looked online to find out whether females can actually catch Man-flu, and it seems I am the first in the history of the universe, which pleases me in some twisted way.
One study found Man-flu may be a legitimate complaint due to the male’s higher level of testosterone and therefore lower level of immunity. But I prefer the more imaginative explanation given by Z. Aston Meddows-Taylor: “All flu bugs require their host to survive so they can feed off their host. Big bad flu bugs don’t pick on women as they fear they’ll kill them, eliminating their food source. They only go after big hairy men who can resist them. The weakling flu bugs only go after women, as men shrug them off at the slightest hint on contact.”
Gotta give the guy credit for creativity.
Maybe it’s a cold. I Googled the differences, but they’re complicated, especially when one’s brain is already slowly leaking into one’s lungs and getting horked up in quarter-sized gobs with every cough.
The only thing I know for sure is, between my shivering one minute and sweating the next, God will not spit me out of his mouth any time soon. (And if you don’t get that joke, look up Revelation 3:16.)
Speaking of God, I decided on Day 5 of my flu to try focusing on all the things I could thank him for in the midst of my wretched misery, starting with the fact I wasn’t barfing. I felt thankful I no longer had little kids to look after. Then I added our warm house, working furnace, water heater, cozy blankets, hot tea, lemon juice, honey, a job with sick benefits, chocolate, and Tylenol. I listed my appliances, sunshine, a hubby to run errands and listen to my grumbling, and the pretty Christmas lights I had no energy to take down. Also flannel jammies, velour housecoat, and rabbit-fur slippers made by a First Nations friend. Lo and behold, before I knew it, my thank-you list outnumbered my flu symptoms.