A Cold Diary

Please don’t attempt to read this noble tale of survival unless you are clearly of an heroic frame of mind such as a manly man like me.

Sunday I awoke feeling less than well rested. My throat was dry and a little sore. My head hurt and I was wheezing a little. I decided I might be coming down with a cold if I didn’t take immediate proactive steps. I took EmergenC several times during the day and didn’t sand the window sashes I had in the cellar. Stuck zinc swaps up my nose. I didn’t feel better at the end of the day.  In fact, I felt worse.

Monday, day two of the attack of the dreaded virus, I was really wheezing, coughing, sore in numerous places but still optimistic this would be quick. More Vitamin C drinks, lots of fruity liquids, some old cough syrup and some children’s Dimetapp I found in the fridge. That should be the end of that! I lounged around all day like the neer-do-well I am practicing to be. Again, felt worse at end of day. Complained to myself since no one else seemed to care as much.

Tuesday, day three. Perhaps this wasn’t going away quickly. Real sore throat, lots of unsuccessful coughing, tight chest, some wandering around the house without a real purpose. More Vitamin C drinks, some real fruit, dark salad greens, and a trip to the pharmacy for supplies. Gel tab cold medicine for people with high blood pressure and cough syrup favored by old drug addicts. Found extra tissue boxes hiding in a closet for emergencies. Hot, hot shower, hang head over pot of boiling water. Worse at end of day.

Wednesday, day four. Wake up feeling sick and get angry. What the hell is this? What have I done wrong? I’ve had it with this. Tea, I’m drinking tea, which I hate because my grandmother always gave it to us when we were sick, so apparently I have admitted at some level to having a sickness. Feel miserable. Chest hurts, wheeze enough to not be able to nap, cough up a lung, blow nose with no results that I can see. Begin to mumble about things I did as a youth that I am not necessarily proud of. Could that be why I have been struck down so viciously? Cannot remember end of day.

Thursday, day five. God really does hate me. Two tissues shoved up my nostrils give me a devil-may-care look. My nose best resembles a Mayan fountain. Eyes red, head hurts, chest hurts, hands cold, feet cold. Why is this awful old house so bloody cold. Turn heat up again. It slowly dawns on me: I’m dying for Christ’s sake! Without a friend in the world. I swallow every medicine I have: the bottles and boxes are all lined up on the kitchen counter like British soldiers during the Revolutionary War. Dimetapp, gel tabs, cough syrup, children’s liquid Tylenol (don’t ask), EmergenC, Hall’s cough drops, chamomile tea, honey, water and fruit drinks. Coughing somewhat more productive but I’m unsettled by what comes out, not sure human being should have such things inside them. Perhaps I am transforming into something else? Emphasis on thing.

Friday, day six. Not sure I actually woke up. Not sure I ever slept. Is that my late mother at the foot of the bed? Must move slowly and slightly bent over like the elderly old fellow I am. If I cough again my head will explode.  Move slowly, that’s it, don’t cough, don’t cough. Instead, I sneeze. And sneeze again, and again. It’s a massacre. My bunny tail tissues shoot across the room and stick to the wall. My crystal chest has broken into a million pieces, my head has liquefied. I moan and try to strike out. I must return to bed. Completely under the covers, I have tissues, cough drops and a large bottle of brandy. The day passes. Neighbors conclude no one is home.

Saturday, day seven.  Nothing is getting done. I wonder if I just announced that I had had “Enough” and began to do regular things, if this would finally all go away. There appear to be bunny tails on my wall. I slept with brandy. I shower, determined to bring this to a conclusion. I’ll go shopping. I need some exterior finish paint, some groceries, a good coffee. I’ll go to the minute clinic and get real medicine. I’m not sure my eyes are focusing. I put on two coats and stumble out the door. Mother of God it is cold and windy and apparently miles to the garage. I can’t see to drive. Wait, what is that pain? I have an ear ache! I haven’t had an ear ache since I was six years old. I can feel each individual tooth. And their slimy. OMG, I’m alien. My eyes are running. I try to blow my nose but it hurts too much to touch. I drive to the drug store with my left blinker on the whole way.

Sunday, eight days. I am the sickest man who has ever lived to tell about it. No man has ever been sicker. Even childbirth only lasts a few hours. But I am brave, courageous and bold. I take my antibiotic and assortment of other meds and I awake feeling vaguely better. Not much better, just a little teeney bit better. Is it possible I will survive? Only a woman could tell for sure…