On Being Sick or as I think of it, The End of the WORLD

Me. RIGHT NOW.

When I was little, being sick wasn't so bad. I got to stay home from school, watch soaps and The Princess Bride (ok, that didn't start until I was like 8 or so because I was afraid of the Rodents of Unusual Size and the Six-Fingered Man until then), eat chicken soup, basically get a free lazy day. My mom would make me a special sick bed on the sofa that I got to feel cozy and snuggly on all day. Aside from the achy feverish feeling, it was kind of awesome. In high school, sick days got even better because by that point I had discovered the BBC's 6-hour Pride and Prejudice mini-series and I watched all 6-hours in their empire-waisted, British-accented, Colin Firth-filled entirety every time. I miss those days.

I also remember when I was younger whenever my dad was sick. My mom would always say, "When your dad's sick, no one else in the world is sicker (more sick?) than him." Well, thanks a lot Dad, because now that's me.

I used to be a trooper when I was sick. I would slurp my chicken soup and quietly watch TV without complaint. I would try to go to school the next day even if I still felt somewhat bad. Well now that I'm an adult, that is OVER.

I am no longer any form of trooper. I hate troopers. In fact, when I'm sick, I hate everything. No one feels as bad as me right now and I hate everyone and everything because of that. I'm like 15% sure I'm dying even though all I have is a low-grade fever and what appears to be some sort of cold, but whatever, it's SERIOUS.

The turning point was when I went to college and suddenly I kind of had to fend for myself when I was sick. I would feel sick, walk into the living room of my apartment and go, "Where's MY SOFA SICK BED?!?" I would walk into my kitchen and go, "Where's my CHICKEN SOUP!?" I'd look at my planner and realize I had a mandatory class to attend and go, "Where's my SICK NOTE?!" Oh right, you need a mom for that. I had a mom, but not with me in post-high school land (ok, so my parents lived 10 minutes from my college campus, but I didn't live at home anymore and who knows what she was up to when her life didn't have to revolve around me and my sick needs anymore!). And sick notes don't work on college professors. And the chicken soup from the dining hall tasted like booboo.

NOT the dining hall's chicken soup.

Then law school came. I lived in Chicago in a small apartment with my cat. Well, my cat was useless when I was sick. Even crappy chicken noodle soup wasn't a 10-step walk away. And so my self-pity during illness continued to snowball out of control.

Now we come to present time where I live in Adult Land. I have a job. I can't just take sick days especially because I'm saving my leave time for holidays, so I have to go to work. I have to wake up at 5:45 in the morning with a fever and mucus pouring out of my face and go to work and get everyone else sick. Suck it coworkers! I have to try and look presentable which is really hard when your face is running. Yeah, my face. Not just my nose because I'm sicker than EVERYONE.

Now I have a husband, so you'd think, awesome! Someone to pity me and take care of me! (He's back in town by the way, yay!) But no. He's a med student. Not that he isn't helpful to a reasonable degree, but he is every bit aware of just how sick I am, which does not match how sick I am in my head, 15% chance of dying. He just tells me drink a lot of water and eat Coldeeze which have a weird aftertaste and I hate them. The problem is, it's not him at all. He's actually great and perfect for a normal sick person. But I am not. I am a sick MONSTER. I don't even know what I want him to do. I just want him to pull an I Dream of Jeannie and do the crossed-arm, head-bob, winky thing and make me better. (Plus, seeing him do that would be priceless.) If I could go home now and have a sick day high school style, I'd probably still be a nightmare because I'm at the point now where my self-pity knows no bounds. Now go away. I hate you. I hate everything. I need Kleenex.