A shot in the arm

Well, I have been sick for the past couple days. And, as my wife notes, that rarely happens. I think she estimated that in the roughly seven years we have been together, this is the second time she has seen me under the weather.

Consequently, I don’t really know how to deal with the onset of my illness. I could feel it coming on for a couple days prior to my being fully sick—as if my body was trying to fight off the illness but was failing. In a way, that is almost worse. If I am going to be sick, I prefer to get it over with in one fell swoop and get it out of the way. I don’t like this waiting around nonsense.

I keep thinking I am better only to realize that the reason I feel good is that my body is loaded up with chemicals designed to combat the symptoms of my illness. When I suddenly begin sweating profusely, buckling over in pain from body aches and hacking like my cigar habit is 20 years older than it is, it becomes clear who is really the boss.

It’s not me. I can tell you that much; it’s not me.

And although I hate (HATE!) needles, my wife has me considering getting a flu shot next year, which I undoubtedly will not end up doing. Once the haze of my fever fades, I will be back to believing I am immune to the world’s maladies because I do such a good job taking care of myself. Is there a shot for delusions of grandeur?

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