I had a cold for Christmas.
OK, so, that's either the worst holiday-themed children's book ever written or a new novelty country hit right up there with "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer."
It's also not quite accurate. I didn't get a cold for Christmas. I actually got it a few days earlier, before my anniversary, and it decided to hang around until, well, still waiting. If, as Benjamin Franklin suggested, fish and guests smell after three days, this cold is stinking like a Coho salmon left on the manifold of someone's car. Not that I would know anything about that.
And I'm not really sure it's a cold. There's a lot of coughing and running of things (not bulls) and generally not feeling good. I imagine there is a specific diagnosis, but "cold" pretty much works. Kind of like "stomach flu." You say that, and people instantly understand. And run, if they're smart, leaving a trail of disinfectant spray behind them.
Basically, I deal with all personal illness in much the same way as people going through the Seven Stages of Grief. Except I've only got four stages and they're all called Denial.
Stage 1 -- Deny you're getting sick. Got a little tickling feeling in your throat? Nose running? Feeling achy or feverish? Instead of going to the doctor, getting medicine and taking time off to recuperate, deny! That way you can let the small ember of general unpleasantness turn into a raging fire of full-fledged whininess.
It's just allergies. Or you're a little tired. Or, if you're my age, well, something always hurts, so, it's hard to tell if you're actually ill or just in your late 50s.
Whatever you chose, it's important to remember there is no problem so big it can't be ignored until it becomes an emergency.
Stage 2 -- Deny you're actually sick. You can barely lift yourself out of bed. Your eyes are glued shut. Your head pounds, you feel like your body has been used for one of those big drums at Cirque de Soleil and you have a strange rash that might not be related at all but is worth noting. You'll be fine. Just take a hot shower and you're all set for the movies, the party or any other public gathering you can potentially make miserable by standing in the middle of and hacking like you've got a spare lung you'd like to get rid of. Really. No one will mind. In fact, they'll admire you all the more for your dedication.
Another version of Stage 2 is admitting you're sick, but denying it's the same sick as everyone else around you. Sure, they're all coughing and sneezing. But yours is a "dry" cough. Not the same thing at all. And the stomach deal? Probably some bad shrimp. Except you haven't eaten shrimp in six weeks. But, it might take a while for something like that to hit you.
Stage 3 -- Deny you gave it to the rest of your family. It's going around. They could have picked it up anywhere. In fact, you're sure this thing has an incredibly long incubation period, and it's very likely, even probable, that they had it first and gave it to you! So it's all their respective faults. And, to make matters worse, they don't even appreciate that you have it far worse than they do, and you're bravely soldiering on. Or that you ought to at least be given full control of the TV remote.
Stage 4 -- Deny you're well. Or, better yet, allow that you might be feeling better, but you don't want to risk a relapse by ... fill in the blank. Taking out the trash. A movie involving singing animals or cartoons. Going to the store. Dinner with relatives. Whatever. Once you realize just how far you can take this, you may never be off the sofa or out of that bathrobe again.
Sooner or later, this illness thing is going to be over. Already I'm dosing myself with over-the-counter cures sure to have me feeling better in no time. Or four weeks, give or take. Now if I can just remember if it's the nasty cherry-tasting stuff that knocks me out or the bubbly, fizzy stuff that makes me want to drive straight to Buffalo, or vice versa.
And if all else fails, I can always seek medical attention. Hate to, though. Waiting rooms. Full of sick people. Who wants to be around them?
Commentary on 01/06/2017