I hate the flu. A lot. I mean, I have good reason. The little viral escapee from Hell made off with my mom, almost managed to off me last year, and basically never fails to make me wish I could fast-forward to when I’m well again.
And no, the flu shot is not the magic fix. I used to get my flu shot every single year, like clockwork, and it never stopped me from getting the flu. Hell, the one year I had the flu three times despite the All-Powerful Flu Shot. The first time was the worst, though: I lied down on the floor next to the heater with some blankets on the Saturday March break started, and I didn’t get back up for a week. As in, literally, I did not get up off that spot on the floor for seven days, excepting trips to pee, which stopped on day three. So I spent four straight days on the floor, mostly unconscious, only waking up to heave my guts out. And then I had the same flu two more times in the next two months. Unfuckingbelievable.
This year, the flu gave me another reason to hate it: THE LITTLE SHIT CANCELLED CHRISTMAS. As in, my sister was half-delirious with fever on Christmas day, and my brother went down on Boxing Day, and I went down the day after. It was a veritable shitshow. We did the best we could considering the circumstances, but, well. I’m sure my all-caps fury is a pretty good indicator of how that went.
And I don’t know about you, but I have a flu technique — my tried-and-true way of surviving the flu until I can haul my ass out of bed/off floor and into the shower to reclaim my humanity and right to eat. (I really love food, and not being able to eat for days at a time because of the flu is yet another reason to hate it.) For me? I park my butt somewhere comfortable–usually my bed, sometimes the couch, and, as mentioned, that spot on the floor the one time — cocoon myself in blankets, and have a bucket, tissues, water, and pop/juice within reach. And then I stay there until the vomiting, dry heaving, and fever-dreams are only shitty memories. It works pretty well, too; I usually only have to stay in my blanket-cocoon for two or three days at most, and then I’m human again.
There are, of course, notable exceptions. The aforementioned March-Break Flu of 2007. December of 2009, when I got swine flu (H1N1). Last winter, when it almost killed me (although it made a secondary infection do its dirty work, the snivelling little coward, so really? Not sure that counts — because the flu portion of that three-act horror show only lasted 4 or 5 days).
Right now, I’m just hoping to hell and back that I don’t get it again — that, now that I’m healthy, I stay healthy.
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.