Guys get a bad rap when they are sick. Or, “sick”, as women might term it....

Guys get a bad rap when they are sick. Or, “sick”, as women might term it.

I feel like the quotations marks do not apply for me this week, as I’ve got this thing that kick-starts into rib-smashing coughing fits in the evenings, combined with a low-grade fever and the type of tiredness that laying around like a slug covered with blankets does not touch. My throat feels like the Lehigh Tunnel down to one lane. I am not quite sick enough to miss work (mornings are better than evenings), but sick enough that when my work day is over I cannot contemplate anything more strenuous than making my way to the nearest couch. My head pounds the entire time, and I doze in small increments, which makes things like reading a book or watching college basketball challenging. I just sort of exist in a zombie-like state. But I do not complain. I want to make this perfectly clear. If asked “how do you feel” I will answer “like crap” but that’s it. I do not relentlessly moan or theatrically whine. In fact, I am almost grateful that whatever I have does not include the vomit bit. The dreaded “stomach-bug”. Just hearing that it is “around” scares me more than Covid ever did. I am not a good person for puking. It makes me feel like my soul is about to be expunged. It makes me want to crawl into the woods and die. I must suffer in silence. I’ll take the bucket into the basement and simply ask that saltines and 7-Up be placed on the top step in case I survive.

Coughing until I break a rib? If this is an either/or thing, then yes please. I suffer in aforementioned gratitude.