35. Sickdaze

All of us become ill from time to time. Whether it be a simple cold or a debilitating flu or a mind numbing headache it seems to be a common human experience. How each of us deals with our suffering however is as varied as the diseases we catch.

I have seen students ill with maladies that would drop a rhino come to school glassy eyed and perky while others require a week or more to recover from a 24 hour flu. Some are fanatic about sharing their condition and their microbes with the rest of the world while others horde them with selfish abandon.

Colleagues are no different in their response when they become ill. The whining and graphic description of bodily fluids exploding from various orifices is countered by the gagging voices that perjure themselves with, "I'm just fine". I'm never sure who I appreciate more, the person who willingly removes their infectious microbes from the building or the die­-hard, runny nosed, contagious sneezer with the misplaced idea that the workplace can't function without them. The trade off of having to do someone else's job for a while or becoming ill myself is an ongoing debate.

When I do succumb to some ungodly infection or other, I pride myself in my choices. Recognizing that my work will not only survive but perhaps even flourish in my absence, I am more than willing to stay at home. I work on the assumption that if I am not inflicting myself on my co-workers that I am allowed to indulge in a frenzy of self pity.

In no time at all I manage to alienate those condemned to share the same household as I. As my whining and moaning increases there is a distancing that takes place. In no time at all I am forced to change television channels by myself, turn the pages of my reading material on my own and even blow my own nose.

Reaching this stage in the past has always prompted me to call the family doctor to visit me on my deathbed. The last time I suggested this he mumbled something about being put under psychiatric observation. When I talk to him now he suggests that I take all my nagging little worries, consolidate them into one big complex and come see him at his office. The very thought of me perishing on the way to his practice fills me with such trepidation that I simple double my dosage of over the counter medication. After a time I know I am not any better but at that point the medication has done its work and I don't care.

When I have finally fought the heroic fight and beaten whatever mutated virus brought me to deaths door I spare no effort in congratulating myself and reminding those around me how this miraculous recovery was achieved in the face of their desertion. As the medication is slowly eliminated from my system and a measure of reality returns I begin to wonder if everyone else is as good a patient as I am.