You will not get any argument from me that there are at least 500 things men suck at way more than women do. That list is too long to even start here, but let's all just agree that men make the absolute worst patients when they do not feel good. Raise your hand if you ever remember your mother being sick for one day in your entire life, me either. How is that possible?
Now, think back to when you were in your teens, until you reached 50, and remember how many days you skipped school or work because you had a cold. I'm guessing not many. Why would you waste a sick day when you were sick? In fact many of you likely even went out after work for happy hour on nights you should have been home getting better. I plead guilty your honor.
We never thought twice about not going out as we spread our germs around the countryside. It was unthinkable that we would miss going out with our friends. Staying home was for little kids and old people.
Guess what, now we are old people and the simple cold feels like death is stalking us.
This past week I fought a losing battle with a simple cold and you would have thought I was not going to live beyond Thursday. As I spent the better part of a week sleeping, sneezing, coughing, and blowing an endless stream of snot from my nose, I wondered how in 2020 we have not figured out a cure for this yet?
Everyone is concerned about the Coronavirus, the latest flu from Asia, that has killed around 2300 people so far worldwide. Guess what? This flu season, here in the United States alone, there have been over 10,000 reported deaths due to complications from the flu, that is five times worse than the virus that has everyone in a panic.
Getting back to me.
Everyone has their special concoction to make you feel better and cure the cold. You know what? None of them work. The common cold is the first cousin to cockroaches, you can't kill either of them. Where in the past I would just plow my way through each day until the evil disease would flee my body, I now find that the simple task of walking to the kitchen takes forty-five minutes and thirteen steps. I have to stop and rest three times on the way.
Luckily my loving wife is sympathetic to my pain by helping me to remember that I am not allowed outside the bedroom for any reason until I stop spreading my germs. The sweet sound of her voice telling me to get my sick ass back in the bedroom brings some comfort in times of distress.
Today is Sunday, and I'm on my sixth day of recovery from the onslaught of this vicious disease that attacked for no reason Tuesday morning. Yesterday I had a great day and was convinced I had beaten back deaths latest challenge, only to wake up today and discover I've had a slight setback. Not a real bad replay, but a junior version with coughing and sweating.
It's not like I have a lot on my plate these days, being semi-retired, but if I don't get better by a week from Wednesday I am going to be pissed. I have tickets for Cubs spring training games in Mesa for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss them and the several hundred beers that come with it.
I know none of you give a rats ass about my being sick, because I would feel the same about you too, but a word of caution as you go on your merry, healthy way. The cold and flu are out there and they are waiting to pounce on the old and weak. Be careful, you could be next.
"Linda, we need more kleenex."