I Feel Stupid... and Contagious

I got sick a week ago, and unsurprisingly, it wasn't much fun. It wasn't a limp tadpole kind of sickness either. It was crazy stuff, with fevers, chills and nifty hallucinations. Fits of coughing that threw me off the bed and rolled me out the door. Pieces of what felt like molten metal rattling around my right lung when I sneezed. Not expiring became pretty much the only thing I did with my day, and it was more than a little liberating. Not in a "Now I'm free to do everything I ever wanted" way, but more in a "The only thing I need to do today is lie down, and I've already done it" way. No work, friends, romance, travel, family or the price of potatoes.

Further complexity was added by my obvious need for a doctor, but my complete lack of knowledge of one's location. You see, I hadn't been sick at all since I'd arrived in Canada, and had no local physician. The idea of trudging through slush and snow to try and find a decent MD who wouldn't fondle my bits unnecessarily or apply leeches to my eyeballs didn't really appeal, particularly as I could barely stand up at the time. So I endured without the benefits of the vaunted Canadian Health Care system, but not without the holy trinity of DayQuil, NyQuil and Halls extra strong cough tablets.

I ended up skipping three days of work, and even had the good luck to sound completely terrible when I called them each morning. I hate it when my voice sounds completely fine even though I'm bleeding out my eyes, and the work person instantly thinks I'm trying to pull a fast one. I sounded like a a demon trying to gargle a mouthful of flaming plutonium, which was just the effect I was looking for. I certainly didn't get any crap from the other end of the line, so pretty soon it was back to dreaming about giant snakes, undead Nazis and electrical storms with teeth. Entertaining, but I'm glad it's all over now.