Friday, August 10, 2012

The Viral Post

The first clue that I was coming down with something should have been the iced tea craving.

Never mind that I had felt like there was a golf ball under my jaw. In the past, I have been the queen of over-reaction (I have a zit. LEPROSY!!!!!!AAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!). However, I like to think I’m much cooler now. Okay. Swollen lymph node. No sweat. It’ll pass. A couple of friends that I’d talked to ON THE PHONE were ill with some kind of upper respiratory infection  and  I had just seen the tail end of “Mr. Skeffington” (Bette Davis. Claude Rains. ‘Nuff said) and Fanny Skeffington is “ravaged” by diphtheria.

Fanny Skeffington before
Fanny Skeffington After. Ew.

Not knowing the effects, I had looked it up on Wikipedia and the golf ball in the jaw materialized hours later. I told my brain not to be such an idiotic wuss and knock it off, for God’s sake. I ain’t catchin’ nuthin’ from nobody. Because I said so.

Okay, so the iced tea was the second clue. Denial is powerful.

I found myself waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat (not unusual: it’s in the mid-90s here and not cooling off at night, I’m in menopause) with a raw throat and a uvula that felt like Muhammed Ali had used it for a speed bag. Okay, I was probably snoring. Again. And the golf ball was gone, but every lymph node I owned was screaming “Red Alert.”

Nah. I’m not sick. I haven’t been exposed. I don’t think. It’s just from the way I’ve been sleeping.

Still craving the iced tea…and water…it's HOT out, I am NOT sick...and avgolemono soup (Greek chicken soup).

I can’t get sick, I thought. I’m protected by a flu shot. They always boost my immunity. Colds? Flu? Pshaw. I am mighty.

The germs are mightier. Little fuckers.

I rummaged in my purse and found Advil Cold and Sinus. Apparently, I needed Advil Cold, Sinus and Black Death. No good: I heard teeny tiny laughter (think Horton hearing a Who. A nasty, vicious cheerleading bitch Who)

Time for the heavy artillery. Time for NyQuil.

Denis Leary referred to NyQuil’s flavor as “Green Death.” Mucinex has an equal number that while it’s not green, it tastes every bit as filthy as NyQuil. And it is a shade of blue not found in Nature (Merry Berry, my ass). However, they work.  I don’t want to know how.

As previously mentioned,  we have a heat wave here in Southern California (go ahead and gloat, rest of US. We got ours. We also had 2 moderate earthquakes within 12 hours of each other. Shake N Bake! Oh shut up: you’re jealous because I got there first). I found myself lying in bed the other night, after downing the Blue Death (sorry, Denis) and thinking, “I have a fever and the land has a fever. When I am ill, the land is ill…I AM MOTHER EARTH!”

New theory: Jim Morrison thought he was the Lizard King. I don’t think he was into mushrooms, LCD, heroin or anything like that. Mr. Mojo Rising must been into the NyQuil. Did anyone check the Lizard King for a green tongue?

Of course, there is always the Overprotective Parent at work. One sneeze and he/she is demanding that your desk be moved so that your bourgeois germs are not carried home to Versailles to infect precious little Disney, his/her daughter (Conceived in vitro with twin brother Walter. Couldn’t you just vomit?) After all, little Disney is just getting over the sniffles herself.

I’ve got news: little Disney is a biological warfare weapon, as is her runny-nosed brother. They’re in daycare, a veritable critical mass of microbes. You, OP, are immune because you are a carrier monkey.  You are Typhoid Douchebag.

And just to make it official, we have the “productive cough.” Bronchial phlegm, thick and salty. My favorite.
And Tiggers the Cat has been hanging close. Buffett, Vicki, Samba, Cookie, George and Toulouse (not all at once) would stay with me when I was sick. If I was in bed, there would always be at least one furry body with me (they took turns). If I was just being lazy, there were sunbeams to absorb and birds to watch; I was on my own.

I admit it. I’ve been invaded and occupied. Call me Afghanistan.

This shall pass. I’m not going to the gym and that’s making me antsy (good sign). I made my soup, but it’s too hot to temper eggs, so rather than a traditional avgolemono, it was a think chicken stock, breast meat, rice (yes, it’s acceptable Primal. Ask Mark Sisson. and lemon. I juiced two lemons into the pot and another one into my bowl (I like lemon flavor that punches you in the nose). Protein, Vitamin C…that’s a combo that would fuck up any germ.

And  I give you Ogden Nash’s whimsical, “The Germ”

A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than the pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.

You little fuckers don't scare me: I've beaten your kind before; the minuscule bodies of your ancestors and cousins rot at my feet. I laugh at your fevers, your nausea, your...

God, it's time for more Blue Death.

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