You know how when you’re sick and go to the doctor hoping for a miracle drug or call your mom hoping for chicken soup via long distance but really you’d settle for a sympathetic “poor baby” and instead they both say: Sounds like a virus. Get some rest.
And you think: Yeah right, if I had time to rest I probably wouldn’t be sick to begin with.
I’m so familiar with this exchange I no longer even need to go through the motions. I can shrug off advice without even having received any.
So when I woke up Saturday morning, besieged by what were clearly professional-strength germs, I thought: I should get some rest. So I did not go to the all-day writer’s workshop I had been so looking forward to. Damn it. But I did have to go to the grocery store. And I returned a couple library books, as long as I was out. I even raked a few leaves, which was a truly bad idea considering how much I was coughing.
Sunday it was raining and I thought: I need to get some rest. So I did a few loads of laundry. Made some soup. Put sheets on the guest bed. Did stuff around the house. But nothing strenuous. Because I was resting.
Monday morning my throat was so sore I could barely swallow, but I had to go to work. Except I felt awful. Those germs had adopted a “take no prisoners” strategy and they were winning. I was starting to sound like Marlo Thomas. Drastic measures were needed. So I called my boss, ignored the “you sound, um, different” commentary (give me a break), told him I was sick (nope, not coming in at noon), endured the infliction of guilt (why do bosses do that?), and went back to bed.
And slept. All day. Woke up twice and ate soup. Went back to bed and slept. All night.
And I feel so much better now (cough). Really. I’m fine (sniffle). A couple naps under my desk at work today (like that’s going to happen), I should be back to normal in no time (right).
Ok, gimme a week, tops.
It’s just amazing what a little good advice can do, once you decide to take it. Really.
TUE PM: Ok, in defense of my boss (clearly, the fever has caused delirium), I had only been at work about two hours today when he said: Maybe you should go home. And get some rest.
Gee, SO glad to know I looked as bad as I felt, because who the hell wants to look better than she feels? Of course this also means I may have been mistaken all this time and he does indeed have a mother.
Nah. More likely he believed me earlier when he said: So, you sound pretty bad, what do you think you have? And I replied, deadpan: I’m pretty sure it’s the plague which, as you know, is quite contagious.
I’m going back to bed now.