Strike

I think all the swine flu hype has made people forget just how horrid the plain flu is.
I wouldn't be surprised if the two are in league together. The swine creates a name for itself, instills a nice dose of panic and recognition in the populace, and then the normal flu comes and starts knocking people down like bowling pins, sending them into a panic.
I imagine the two high five each other, then play another round.
It's a fierce cycle- this flu business- and being one of those pins, I've been knocked down since Monday.
Brutal.

It started at school (for no particular reason, because I faithfully hand sanitize) as a slight headache. By the time I was in the car, moving my eyes was more than a little uncomfortable.
By the time I was in the house, I felt like someone with a grudge had somehow, without me knowing, cracked a baseball bat on my head. By the time I hit my pillow at 2pm, I was out for the next 5 hours.

Waking up in the evening is always a bit disconcerting, because you think it's morning, but it can't be, because your husbands not there, and you don't know why you are wearing jeans. But, with a little time, coherency gives your head a knuckle rub and you start to make sense of your dark surroundings.

Ooh...the flu...

So that was Monday evening. James came home about 7:30, and my 5 hours of afternoon unconsciousness had worked wonders. We ate chicken soup, we watched a movie, we took it easy, and then I got a fever.

I had forgotten what the hot and cold chills sensation was all about. A reminder's always nice, I suppose, if you are one to get nostalgic over memories like that. But I'm not, and so the reminder, which lasted from sundown to sunup, was as unwelcome as the idea of two flues conspiring against me.
I survived the night, which at the time was certainly questionable, to me at least, and entered a new day deprived of both sleep and my chicken soup.

Breakfast is something I look forward to. It just has this way of starting the day off right. So to go without breakfast forebodes a day that will just not be right. That, my friends, is an understatement. The problem is, my head is telling me it wants all the lovely things stocked inside our fridge. My hand agrees, and grabs the food. My mouth agrees, it chews the food. Even my throat agrees, and swallows it. So, it would seem we are all on the same side here. The stomach however, which has been granted ultimate authority on the issue, throws a mini temper tantrum. It would seem his new friend- The Flu- has migrated south, and has gathered the reins for the time being.
So, food is out.
So, apparently is water.

Without the essentials, I again feel myself in the clutches of death by flu and dehydration, until James returns from the corner store with ginger ale. This, my stomach has no choice but to tolerate, and I treasure it like a bottle of wine over dinner. Eventually, I introduced the soda cracker, and finding no reaction, settled back for a swift recovery. That was Tuesday.
Today is Friday.
And, I still am dealing with the unwelcome virus.
There's no need to go into further detail. We all know what the flu is capable of, I'm sure. I just guess I'm disappointed that my friend- Immune System- has been so manipulated. I mean, is it just letting this thing tromp across my whole body? What was that whole fever thing even about? I thought that was a good sign, a sign of battle being waged on the enemy, my troops of white blood cells lining up like good little soldiers and harpooning the enemy without mercy.

Well, I suppose I'll have to explain my poor infantry to my advisor. I only have a week left of teaching placement, and this week out of commission will reflect poorly on my review. I am not sure what the policy is, but I may have to make up some time once all this is over.

Props to a weekend, and the hope of recovery.