I have no idea if I had the swine flu or not. I think not. But people are so crazed over this swine flu thing that they think anyone who is sick has it. And, well, I'm one of those people who is on that hysteria wagon - except when it comes to me and whether or not I had it; I simply worry about everyone else.
Now, some 10 days since the onset of this thing, I still have vestiges of the cough, the sore throat, the glassy eyes, and the state of confusion. Scratch the last part of that sentence. I am ALWAYS in a state of confusion. The illness simply justified it.
I took a photograph of myself about 5 days into it and sent the photo, via text message, to my sister-in-law. That was the most frightening photo I have seen in a long time. Of anything. And my sister-in-law is recovering nicely in a rest home where they promised her that the satanic photo was completely destroyed and an exorcism of the highest caliber was performed on her phone. And they guaranteed that no one would ever hurt her like that again. At least that's what my copy of the restraining order said.
That photo was so scary that it had to be only through blind love that my husband, children and grandchild could remain in the same room with me. Not since I saw the previews of "Throw Momma from the Train" have I been so frightened. In fact, I never watched that movie for the sheer fact that I couldn't handle seeing the woman who played Momma. She freaked me right out. When the previews would come on the television, I'd be all over the couch feeling around the cushions, the pillows, my husband's hair, looking for the remote to get that off the screen.
With that said, you know I won't post that photo here. In fact, I deleted it right after I sent it to Robin and regretted sending it to her immediately after doing so, and for good reason, as previously stated. I'm not photogenic as it is and with the flu, accompanied by a 5 pound weight loss off of a 125 pound frame (due to the flu), hair that hadn't been styled (at the time) in 4 days (I showered, ok? But there was no use of hair products for 10 days straight), skin that was pale, lips dry and cracking, and one eye seemingly bigger than the other (can eyes have swollen glands???), well, truly, I was a sight all right.
And the older I get, the worse I respond to symptoms. Like the coughing. The other day I coughed so hard, I peed in my pants a little. When it happened, I froze while in my "cough-induced doubling over" pose (not to be confused with yoga's Downward Facing Dog) and felt my eyes get as big as dinner plates (even the one with the swollen gland). Could it be? Did I? How bad is it? As I hobbled, cross-legged to the bathroom and peeled off my pants, it wasn't so bad. But it took time because I wasn't going to re-dress without a shower. 20 minutes later and as the second wave of coughing descended, I was prepared. I sat on the couch, cross-legged, my hand between my legs, with pressure applied. Now is that crazy or what? But it worked. Had anyone walked in the door at that moment seeing me bent over, legs entwined like a pretzel, holding my privates, and coughing until my eyes watered, they might think I was performing some type of masochistic sexual maneuver. Only thing is, I wasn't enjoying it. Not one bit. And it was obvious.
What I learned from this experience is that the flu, like so many other things that come and wreak havoc in our lives, serve a purpose. They humble us. Because when we're sitting as still as possible, holding our crotch, coughing until tears fall like rain, and a booger the size of New Hampshire has apparently settled itself just inside your right nostril, right where a swipe of the hand won't catch it so you have no idea it's even there because you're too afraid to even look at yourself in the mirror, but the Green Peace guy at the door can't seem to speak proper English through all of his stammering because he is so upset about that booger the size of New Hampshire that, try as he might, he can't take his eyes off of it, kind of like not being able to look away from a bad accident, and you think that the reason he has scampered off is because you vehemently say, "No solicitors, PLEASE. I'm sicker than a dying dog on it's best day," and you close the door, dust off your hands as if you've had some freaking accomplishment that day because, for crying out loud, you can barely get off the couch let alone answer the door and chastise a Green Peace guy. And then when you finally decide to go into the bathroom and give yourself that smile of confidence in the mirror as you pass by on your way to the toilet, you stop in mid-gait and realize that something bigger, more powerful and more heinous than any words you could ever say were what scared off that Green Peace guy.
And, after slinking back to the couch for Round 3 of your coughing seizures, you realize that nothing can be more humbling, more bubble bursting, more self-esteem deflating than a booger the size of New Hampshire.
Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma
