In the winter of 1999, I had my last flu. We had traveled home from London on a 767 full of weepy, snizzelly folk. Home two days, I collapsed in a pile of fever. The flu turned into bronchitis, which turned into pneumonia. Several weeks later, I was cured, but meanwhile, I'd had to go on living--being a mom, teaching, grading papers.
I vowed that would never happen to me again. No more germs. No more flu. No more nothing.
So from that year on, I went yearly for my flu shot. No more flu. Even when the flu shot was suspect, a near miss in terms of the year's flu strain, no more flu. No writhing in headache and fever pain on the bed. No more whinging on the couch as the world went by. No more pneumonia!
Somehow, though, this year was a bust. On Saturday, there was the scratchy throat. On Sunday, there I was the weepy, snizzelly folk on the airplane. By Monday, here I am in bed, whinging.
You would think we could eliminate the flu. But it's a gross little virus, in all its myriad forms. I resent it--I think it's torture to only feel good when in the shower or drugged with decongestants.
I want a refund.
In any case, I'll be here all day, maybe longer.
Causes Jessica Inclan Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org