A month of awesome vs. the mighty germ

I was going to work out this month. I had it mapped out. Walking, stationary biking, calisthenics (my own made-up Jazzercise revival). Workouts my lazy butt could actually do, they were on the agenda.

I was going to eat better this month. Inspiring cookbooks, my nutribullet, the works.

I was going to read more books. Long train rides to work means 2-3 books per week. I was all set.

And then the inner ear infection.

And the outer ear infection.

The higher blood pressure.

The massive head cold that left me with no taste buds, making me spurn even the most awesome Sofia Loren pie from my local pizzeria – I couldn’t even finish half a slice!

The hacking cough, which made fellow subway riders so uncomfortable, I had plenty of places to sit, but all the guilt in the world. So, I drove in to work on most days I could make it out of bed. No reading for me.

The flu, with the fever of 102 that left me delirious, wondering, “Am I on the toilet, or am I wetting the bed right now?”

So, here I lie. Propped up in bed, so that I don’t choke on rivers of mucus and phlegm, a thousand forests weeping for the tissues I have blown to oblivion. I’m hungry, but it doesn’t matter. Everything tastes like feet.

But to my weary, infected body, my brain and my heart issue this edict: You have two days to recover. To fight. To win. We turn 40 in 4 weeks. We are not going down in this sniveling, snotty mess. We will enter our 41st year in a wave of awesome, not in a cloud of infection and farts.

Make it so, number one.

tb hospital