I feel like I’ve been living in the bottom of a well for the last three weeks, which isn’t as much fun as it sounds.
My head is swollen, my eyeballs hurt, my teeth hurt, my eyebrows hurt and I can’t hear anything in the bottom of the well. I sound like an end-stage smoker when I try to talk. When I make the mistake of leaving my bed, I totter around woozily like I’ve just had six shots of vodka (not nearly as much fun as actually having six shots of vodka) and I’ve gone through 587 “Kleenex Professional comfort touch” tissues.
Yes, I counted them. Because I have nothing else to do. The TV hurts my head and my eyes are too sore to read.
I have no idea what “professional” tissues are. Maybe psychiatrists buy them for their side tables where you can grab one when you start crying over your rotten spouse who you just discovered cheated on you.
I’ve never had any spouse, cheating or otherwise, but I have needed professional strength tissues for the last three weeks, because I’ve been sicker than I can ever remember, even when I had COVID.
I almost never get colds or flu, so this one walloped me unexpectedly after Cheetah Boy brought it home as a special gift. I mean, it’s better than the pornographic playing cards he brought me from Mt. Vesuvius, but not by much.
I can tell I’m really acting sick, because my son is being unusually nice to me. Not nice enough to voluntarily clean up the kitchen — he only does that when he needs money — but otherwise thoughtful and kind.
Molecules of air bumping into my forehead made my head ache. When the sun comes through my bedroom window, instead of cheering, I feel like I’m in a scene from every vampire movie ever made, where the creature sees the rising sun, shields his eyes from the pain and immediately turns into dust.
I thought about wandering around the neighborhood asking people walking their dogs to chop my head off, to make the pain stop, but I couldn’t stand up long enough.
By the way, I did find something I could watch on TV. Remember “Gilligan’s Island“? That was my TV pacifier when I was sick as a child. I tried watching it again but honestly now it strikes me as so idiotic it just hurt my head even more. Can you believe it ran for only three seasons? People still argue about how Mrs. Howell had all those gowns. I still have a crush on the professor.
So I tried to watch “Gilligan’s Island,” but no such luck. No longer soothing. And then I hit the jackpot. I discovered “The Brady Bunch” is airing on Amazon Prime right now. Ah, yes. Watching “The Brady Bunch” is like sinking into a hot bath after running a marathon. Well, I’ve never run a marathon, (big surprise) but that’s what I imagine.
Just seeing my old friends Carol and Mike and Alice and Marcia and Greg and all the rest instantly made my head stop hurting. Although I had a temporary relapse when I was forced to ponder what ever happened to their cat, Fluffy, who just disappeared after the first episode. And no one seemed to care.
When I was a kid, our striped gray cat, Tiger, also conveniently disappeared under similar circumstances, after the sixth time he scratched my brother, who adored him. I suspect my mother, but she always vehemently denied this.
Even though I was so sick I didn’t even think about eating — this never happens — it just seemed like a bad cold, so I didn’t call the doctor. I know they can’t do anything about colds, so I just suffered in silence with Greg and Marcia.
Finally, though, last week I decided I really had to reach out, so I called the doctor and went in for testing. After the nurse stuck long wooden barbecue skewers up my nose and down my throat, I went home and waited.
It turned out that I have a rhinovirus, i.e. a cold, which I knew, but also an evil bacterial infection that manifests as anything from strep throat to ear problems to meningitis. Yikes.
I really hate taking antibiotics because they kill all the good bacteria in your gut, but they almost immediately started making me feel better. I don’t have to turn the TV volume up to 100 now to hear it. I can stagger into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, as long as it’s not complicated.
The other day, I even changed out of my ratty ancient nightgown that I’d been wearing because I was too sick to wash the others. Pretty sure the universe is thanking me for that one.
I feel guilty that this column isn’t funnier. In fact, it’s kind of whiny. I know that. I’m sorry. But hopefully you’ll indulge me and run and get vaccinated against every known bug out there, so you won’t be me. Except vampires. I don’t think you can get vaccinated against them, so just carry around a wooden stake. I’m crossing my fingers I’l be able to fly to go see the solar eclipse on Monday. It’s supposed to be cloudy and rain all day. But hey we’ll be in rural Texas. What could be better than that?
Want to email me? Reach me at mfisher@scng.com. I especially appreciate when you tell me everything I’m doing wrong.
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