greetings from the sick ward

normally when i get sick, i only manage to take myself out of the game for a few days or weeks. this time, and with this cold, i'm taking hostages.

goddess girl liz laughed when i told her a coworker told me that i infected her with my cold, only i had only spoken to her over the phone since i came down with the plague.

"car, there's no possible way you could have infected her over the phone," she tells me, being all practical, and future-nursing student-like. "maybe you saw her before you were symptomatic or you both ran into whoever made you sick."

"yeah, i guess that's possible. we have been in constant contact since "project rock-and-a-hard-place" began," i offer. "but she managed to get the oozy eye, too. so far, i've been the only person to get that part," i continued, referring to the swollen, bloodshot eye-gunk oozing that made me look and feel particularly attractive last week. like quasimodo with a smoker's cough. only i don't smoke anymore.

liz was a little more receptive to the possibility of my new germ warfare when her throat became increasingly sore after our conversation. "i'm laying in bed and can't sleep because my throat is so red hot and sore, i think, 'i'm gonna kill her if i get sick'," she recounted the next day.

take that telemarketers, you may be next. think i won't?

* * *

the only reason i can attribute to feeling better at all this week has to be because i managed to share the love, err, sickness with others. i thoroughly take stock in the idea that until my germies, like elvis, have left my building can i ever hope to recover.

normally, this plays out like this: i get death-bed sick -- cough, congestion, fever, strep throat, bronchitis, hanta virus. mam, with whom i share everything, maybe gets a slight cough. NOTE: this scenario also plays out in the reverse - mam gets the sniffles, i get pneumonia.

last sunday, when the one-two-punch of fever and sinus headache knocked my ass back in bed, i figured i was in trouble when mam rolled over and told me he wasn't feel any better. "shit," i muttered in between fever chills and chattering teeth, "i'm screwed." if neither one of us was in a position to accept the new germs and we just kept passing them back and forth, then those sumbitches are going to grow fruitful and multiply, and quite possibly kill me as they got stronger.

besides, if both partners are sick, who is going to take care of the other?

as a take-charge, forward adult, it would probably surprise most people that i am a complete puss when i get sick. it's as if i'm a toddler again, throwing irrational tantrums, prone to crying because my head or throat hurts, or bitching because i can't breathe. my legs cease working, too, and i cry out for someone to bring me more juice or more tissues. i throw one mean pity party, i tell ya.

but with mam nosing in on my turf, who was taking care of who? surely, mr. hacking-cough is no match for a 160 degree fever, right? (even in sickness i'm one competitive bitch.) somehow i managed to win our little tete a tete, probably when my core body temperature reached near nuclear levels did he concede my victory and got out of bed to get me juice. hah! he probably feared singed flesh if he stayed under the covers with me any longer.

(this is also precisely why we are NOT fit to be parents, either. my dogs can be trained to bring my slippers, aspirin and i'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult to teach them to open the fridge and help themselves to a meal.)

mam was really sick, though -- sick enough to take three sick days in a row -- something that has not happened ever in the 16 years that i've known him. in fact, after last week, he probably now has somewhere in the range of 4 months worth of days still accumulated from his years of good health.

on day three of my plague, when i could no longer stand the razor blades i surely swallowed ripping my throat to shreds anymore, and called the doctor, mam decided to tag along. actually, he rode my coattails to an appointment. with all my medical melodrama, i was coded as a "priority patient" at some point which simply means this chick is so fucked up, you better see her sooner, rather than later or else the medical mystery only gets more complicated. i don't think in the last decade, i had to wait longer than a day to get an appointment. it's like being a rock star and getting into an exclusive club only nowhere near as fun.

"how do you know all these people?" mam barks, as we signed in at the doctor's office, "they all know you by name, for crying out loud."

"i have people, man," i croak, because my throat really balks at the feeling of air rushing over it to form syllables and words, "you don't come to the office weekly for tests without knowing the staff. remember, you got this appointment today because of me."

after some excellent deductive reasoning ("some tenderness in your neck and throat, i see," after i moan and wince as he examines it), the doc concludes we have the average, run-of-the-mill virus, wrecking havoc on our area, and not some form of "hoof and mouth" disease i thought my brother back with him from scotland.

"your throat does look a little red, though, so i'm going to test for strep just in case. we can get the results in about 5 minutes and if you do have it, we'll get you started for treatment," he tells me as i begin to pout at just having an "ordinary" virus. doesn't he know me by now? "ordinary" has never been an adjective used to describe my medical history.

oddity, i'd accept. ordinary, not so much. after gagging me with a tree branch wrapped in cotton to get a culture, mam and i head out to wait the results in the lobby. the very germ-y lobby where i try to never touch anything, except when i'm sick and really trying to share the love, err, germs with others.

but this time, i was so tired and yucky feeling, i couldn't even take pleasure in someone picking up a magazine i touched and getting this plague. so when results came back negative (something very loudly announced to the rest of the waiting room i might add. goddess knows what they others waiting with me thought i didn't have -- the hiv? pregnant?)

on the drive home, mam tried to brighten my spirits on not having strep and coming home with loads of pills to knock this out of my system. "think of it this way, hon, at least you can take advantage of the weight loss benefits not eating solid food affords for a longer period," he tells me, hacking once for good measure because he walked out of there without any drugs either.

oh, i'm sick alright.