I feel fuzzy.
I have a cold. Most often, I can dodge colds and the flu. When I’m sick, I can shake it off after two or three days.
Regardless of how long, when I’m sick, I’m not just sick. It’s the “Man-Cold.”
The Man-Cold is a blanket term for men and women who whine like a puppy left in a kennel when they’re sick. Because we’re sick. And it’s icky.
Day one? The Man-Cold crept in:
“Oh, this is how it ends,” I said. “I’ll never finish my novel or see the Alamo.”
“You never wanted to see the Alamo,” said my husband.
“That’s not the point.”
On day two, I was convinced there wouldn’t be a day three. Surely, one shouldn’t feel such ickiness. My joints ached. My nose was red. My eyes. Oh, God? Where were my eyes? My sinuses were so puffy, I looked like a hollowed out pumpkin. I lay on the couch, staring at Pinterest. I’m sure at that point I was delirious with a fever. Pinning sewing ideas when I have no idea how to spin a bobbin.
“What do you want for lunch?”
I used the last of my energy to answer my husband: “Doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, then salmon.”
“Almond butter sandwich. Cut into fours. Crusts cut off … please.”
But, I made it to day three. After a night of purring in my husband’s face. However, by morning I was a gushy snot pump. Blowing my nose until it was bone dry. Then, the Sahara conditions in the house led to an epic nosebleed of the decade.
As an adult, my nosebleeds stop within thirty seconds. A minute at the most. This time, I bled for 15 horrifying minutes. My husband called my parents, who raised the Tammy whose nosebleeds would result in an ER visit.
The bleeding stopped thanks to a damp paper towel squeeze. And at that point, I was not having fun.
I couldn’t breathe. Oh, but that didn’t stop the sneezes. I poured through quarter of box of tissue as I looked for a non-gag temperature app on my phone. To no avail, I dragged my weak body from the TV room to the kitchen, and I took my temp – old school: 99.1. I went to bed convinced I’d contracted the measles.
I’m on day four. My eyes are sensitive to light. My head is pounding. And I’m sniffing like I inhaled a jalapeño. And my joints? Well, I forgot those ached on day two. So, I must be improving.
Slowly, the Man-Cold is subsiding. Just a bit.
After all, for lunch I had an almond butter sandwich cut into fours.
With the crusts.
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Image credit: rebubble.com
29 then 40 