It’s been quite a week.
Day 1: Aches.
Day 2: Aches with fever.
Day 3: Aches with fever, headache and nostril drainage (to throat).
Day 4: Fever with headache. Nostril drainage has caused a sore throat. Aches subsiding.
Day 4/5: HEADACHE OMG HEADACHE
Day 5: Headache, nostril drainage, sore throat, fatigue
Day 6: Nostril drainage, sore throat, fatigue, irritated eyes. Headache faint, yet still around.
Day 7: Irritated eyes and fatigue. Sore throat subsiding. Feeling human again.
Day 7 is today.
I never like to be the type of person who whines about being sick. This is because we all get sick – I’m not in any special boat, here. I’m not the only person who has ever been laid out to die by a virus, so I don’t expect any preferential treatment.
But man, this week sucked.
In one day I managed to sleep four different places in the house. I bounced from bed to couch to bed in an effort to stay clear of other disease-receptive humans. I tried to watch television, blinked my way through two too-close-for-comfort Celtics games and tried to go to sleep each night to no avail.
There is something about being sick that strips a person of all dignity. I found myself whining, snapping and wandering around in my boxers. I missed an entire weekend of beautiful weather.
The week zoomed by, unaware of my existence, to the point that it seems like just yesterday I was at work – that just yesterday I was getting ready to go to Spezia for a coworker’s going away lunch.
What I’m trying to say is this: I’m always amazed that an organism so small can cause full-grown adults to become a hallowed shell of their usual state. That something I’ll never be able to see can work in unison with so many of its counterparts in waging a full-out combative strike against my health and wellbeing, to the point that I lose track of my life, feel altogether unlike myself and angry at the world.
A virus brought me to my knees. I write to you now as a broken man. With a sore throat.