My acquaintance with illness is a short and cordial one. Until a few weeks ago, at least, every winter some common cold virus and I would meet up, shake hands, spend a few not particularly unpleasant days together, and then with mutual civility, go our separate ways, he feeling satisfied at his temporary residence in my bloodstream, and I glad that I had once again gone through my brief yearly ritual of hospitality for the pathogens of the world.

Since before I was in Jr. High, that was the routine that I came to expect from the cold and flu season: “Hmm, a runny nose. How about that?”

And that would be it. I would transgress confidently the personal space of those wracked with coughing fits and bleary eyes, not wary in the least that any of their troubles would somehow worm their way into my body . It just didn’t happen. When it be a particularly strong immune system, divine providence or the result of my extensive practice of goat sacrifice, I simply didn’t ever feel inclined to look over my shoulder to check and see if some nasty bug was gunning for me. Apparently they had bigger fish to fry.

Of course, such attitudes are destined to one of these days find the specter of Nemesis staring smugly back at them.

Five weeks ago that happened to me. Such a strange series of disparate symptoms queued up for their turn at me over a period of twenty days or so that I felt that lady who’s “got to get out of here!” in Airplane . I get slapped around for a while by a sore throat that makes it feels like I had Broken Glass a la King for dinner, with a side of razor blades, and then the camera pans slowly left to show fevers, coughs, bacterial infections and all sorts of other nasties lined up patiently for their turn at me.

At first I brought out my stores of futile defiance. Upon realizing that some little virus had seen fit to pick a fight, I channeled my inner Doc Holliday, “I’m your Huckleberry.”

Perhaps there’s some irony in the fact that he died of tuberculosis.

Since I don’t really feel too inclined to recount in all the pus-addled, nauseated, delirious detail, I’ll just condense the tale thusly: I had mono, or should I say, it had me. As Richard Jeni once said, “It was only sort of a fight . Many goats will be sacrificed.

So, you could say I’m a newly humbled man with regards to the ability of Dominitrix Nature to throw our bodies completely out of whack. On the road to Damascus, a microbe appeared to me and said “Watch your ass, chump. I can do that any time I want.” I’ll be spreading that gospel, oh powerful one.

I’m forced to reflect on this when I read about fellow bloggers being swatted and see those around me looking like they should be mumbling “Brains, brains!” I wish them all the quickest recovery possible.

































































































































































































































































































































last update : 22-11-2017

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