One Flu Over The Cuckoo's Nest

The last time I got the flu, I was in college, living with Nora. Up until that point, I had assumed the flu was, essentially, a bad cold. Catching it was a rude awakening. Nora and I lay on the couch, moaning and taking turns getting the medicine. 

I have not missed a flu shot since. Not until this year, and it was really only a matter of having not gotten it yet. I was too late.

This time seemed worse, or maybe that's just the effects of memory and fifteen years.

I have been miserably sick for the last ten days. The coughing began a week ago Wednesday, and the body aches the day after. I had to max out on pain pills just to function, and by "function" I mean sleep without pain. I crawled out of bed only to get the meds. I soaked in a hot bath as often as possible, and I slept around the clock. The fever and pain eased up on Sunday. I went to the ER Monday night/Tuesday morning, when my throat closed in what I've learned is a laryngeal spasm. An albuterol inhaler and resuming ibuprofen for the inflammation has eased my ability to breathe, but I have continued weak, fatigued, and coughing since. 

Let me tell you, school has not been fun this week.

While my family has all contracted it as well, they've all recovered already. It's been a blessing that the flu touched my children so little. A day or two of fever and pain, and they were back to normal. 

Though Kevin got sick, he reacted better to medicine than I did, and he has taken care of everything. He has the week off work, by pure random happenstance, and it has been such a blessing. While I lay and moaned, shaking or sweating, and coughing up a lung, he made all the meals, went shopping, put kids to bed and got them out the door the next morning. He did laundry and cleaned. As miserable as I have felt, I cannot imagine having to do this without him. He was my hero this week.

Today, I finally feel like my mind is less foggy, and, though my chest feels tight and fragile, I am coughing less and might be able to function normally in the next couple of days. 

Next year, flu shots in October. 

I Don't Want to Be Like Dad

My dad was a very kind man, but he was also rebellious and irresponsible. Couldn't or wouldn't keep a job, blew through money, and never, never listened to doctors. Taking responsibility for anything, but especially for his health was way out of character for him. He used to say that he didn't want to live longer if it meant following all those damn health rules. He wanted to go out with a Pepsi (later Coke) in one hand and a Snickers bar in the other. 

The problem is that his chosen lifestyle did not result in his early death, being not quite James Dean enough. Instead, he spent twenty years in his recliner, unable to have a life, while his health grew worse and his body grew bigger. He opted for a wheelchair over physical therapy and soon required the care provided by a nursing facility, despite being twenty years younger than most residents. 

His rebellious insistence that he not follow the rules took away his autonomy and independence. He was miserable for twenty years. I want to put a stop to this pattern before my teeth fall out and my knees collapse and I can't buy clothes at common retailers. I do not want to go out with Coke in my hand. I want to live a long, active life and die surrounded by great-grandbabies.