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• Sickness seriously sucks...

Waking up Sunday morning was a bastard. It felt as though there was an intense swelling around my brain that caused it to bang against the side of my head if I moved in the least. My legs ached, my back was sore; I was coughing, dizzy. This is not an unfamiliar feeling for someone like me, but it's usually self-induced from a bout of drinking that drifts well into the next day. But holy crap, I'd stayed in for two days. This was something far worse than any hangover.

I, of course, couldn't accept that I was actually about to get sick, one of those sicknesses where the doctor tells you it's not going to get better for three or four days. Using a sick day from work when you're actually sick is sort of like using all of your prescribed painkillers when you need them. It' s much more fun to wait and use them for recreation rather than necessity. I was going to deny anything was wrong until the illness actually kicked in.

We had some doubles tennis scheduled for that afternoon, so I figured what the hell, I'll still play. I had read something once on WebMD that had said exercise didn't hurt you if you had the flu and might actually help fight the disease. Of course, the last time I went on WebMD, I thought I had leprosy since I had one of the symptoms so that site may do more harm than good.

Regardless, I played some tennis and it went pretty well. I felt like crap, but it made me concentrate more on what I was doing and forced me to avoid any extraneous movement. Sadly, I might actually be more functional in my daily life if I was sick all the time. When you're sick, you don't screw around much. You know what you have to do, you do it and go the hell back to bed. I was in this productive mode.

After tennis, I laid on the couch, and I could feel the malaise creeping up on me. Raising up to change the channel on the TV became an out-of-body experience, and I began to cough up separate life forms from my throat. I drank an orange soda because it seems healthier than a Coke, but let's face it, it really isn't. After that, I was exhausted beyond belief, so I went to bed. I really felt okay laying there for awhile, so long as I didn't move in the least.

The dog jumped up on the bed with me. I know they say canines can sense danger and sadness and illness, but they must be talking about dogs other than mine. Instincts such as that seem to escape him and in his mind, this seemed like a perfect time to rub a squeaky toy into my face. Still, it was sort of cute. I may have even laughed if it weren't for the imminent vomiting.

Eventually, I fell asleep for an hour or so until the phone rang. It was my mom and dad taking full advantage of the "free calling weekends" offered by their cell phone company. As soon as I mentioned I was ill, my father insisted I hang up the phone, cover my entire body with VicksVaporRub, put on thermal underwear and a stocking cap, and lay in bed under five or six blankets. His plan is always to sweat out the virus, and he feels nothing is quite as effective. Still, it's the same man who told me to "shake it off" when I was hit in the neck with a baseball during Little League.

Mom got on the phone and told me to drink some 7 Up and have someone bring me some lime sherbet. Sure, ma, something like that made it better when I was six, but now...um, lime sherbet doesn't sound all that bad though. She then reminded me that my medicine cabinet was packed full of medicine her and dad had picked up in Mexico: codeine, penicillin, you name it. I was too tired and distressed to explain to her that I actually have health insurance and can have a qualified person tell me what drugs to take. I instead said I was going to get the sherbet before I felt worse. I didn't, but it enabled me to get off the phone.

I aimlessly wandered around the house for a few minutes, disoriented and in pain. I always think about sickness in a nostalgic sort of way. I remember the times I got to stay home from school as a little kid, watching TV and having my mom kiss my ass until I was better. Even now, I tend to long for sickness, just to lay around and catch up one some movies I haven't seen. Then, I actually get sick and it becomes apparent how much it really sucks. It's just miserable.

I wrote this column and fell back into bed. The dog licked my face, snuggled up next to me and fell asleep. Maybe he's realizing that I'm sick, but I'm betting he's just tired. Either way, the joy of sickness never really comes to be. It sucks until it's over, and I only hope it's sooner than later.