Pass The Chicken Soup, Please

Oh, man. I’d forgotten what hell felt like until this weekend.

It started with a sore throat on Wednesday. Foolishly, I decided I must have scorched my throat with some overheated coffee. Then I started feeling a little achy but chalked it up to a tweaked back (which, somehow, I seem to aggravate every year around Christmastime—must be lugging all those packages around).

On Friday afternoon, I looked at the clock an hour before closing and knew I couldn’t possibly stay until five. Couldn’t quite put my finger on WHY exactly, just knew I had to get home and get a nap before meeting friends at the local watering hole.

Can you spell d-e-n-i-a-l??

Hey, hadn’t I faithfully taken that Airborne stuff every day of my trip to Vegas in order to ward off all those cooties floating through the airports and casinos? I couldn’t possibly be SICK, could I??

Then, I got home and took my temperature. 102 degrees. Shoot.

Now, you gotta remember, I’m a single, childless, woman. I’m lucky if I own a bottle of aspirin. So, I dug through the medicine cabinet, and found the aspirin and two lonely antibiotics (the expiration date for which I wasn’t feeling picky enough to check).

And, some Zicam. Ah, Zicam. I truly believe it’s the wonder drug.

Got on the phone, cancelled all my plans, and settled in for a night of chills, sweat, and unearthly moaning.

For entertainment (besides constant TV) I spent the long night debating the pros and cons of being sick and single. The cons are obvious: No TLC, no soup brought on a tray to my bed, and no back rubs. Oh, wait. All that stuff comes with having a mother, not a boyfriend. Not even the back rubs are a given. Trust me. I have experience. (Okay, Joe. I know you’re reading this, and I WILL give you credit for the TLC and meals, just not the back rubs.)

So, now the pros. And, yes...hard to believe, but there are some. Or, at least, I talked myself into it while under the influence of the 102 degree temperature.

First, you can moan and groan all you like without feeling silly or melodramatic. Try it. Turns out moaning and groaning actually make you feel better.

Second, you don’t have to eat soup if you don’t want. Nope—anything in the kitchen’s fair game (assuming you actually HAVE food in the kitchen). So, for example, around 2 a.m. I dragged myself downstairs for a popsickle and some pistachio nuts. Mmmm, perfect. Really hit the spot.

Third, you can look as bad as you feel. Come on, ladies, ‘fess up. Some of you sneak a brush through your hair and dab on some makeup even when you feel like hell. Well, not me. In fact, when I opened the door to the telephone repair guy Saturday morning, the look in his eyes confirmed it.

Fourth, you can watch whatever you want on TV. The Brady Bunch at 3:30 in the morning? Who’s gonna know?

Anyway, the fever finally broke around 2 in the afternoon on Saturday, and I started feeling reasonably human. Woozy, but human.

Maybe there’s something to that Airborne stuff after all.