It's Nice to be Sick

For the past few years, I haven't been sick. Well, I haven't had a typical, run-of-the-mill seasonal cold or flu. Obviously, I had MS, which sucked. Perhaps one of the main advantages to this annoying and cloying malady is that (& I've said this many times) it precludes normal infectious diseases. In the parlance of my beloved football, it's like a wide center who snaps the ball and then stops nearly everything that tries to get through (unless, of course, you're a Chicago Bear, in which case you likely forgot that that's your objective). In addition to attacking anything and everything, including my own body, it staved off the common cold and flu and similar commonplace ailments. Everyone that I knew would catch the flu, but I could shrug at their warnings of "better not get too close."

Actually, I'd use such a warning as an excuse to validate my own reluctance to bask in their company. I still do this, for the most part, but chemotherapy has effectively destroyed my immune system and, thus, my body's main mechanism of defense against pathogens. The other day, I noticed that I had a sore throat--perhaps my first in two years. Or around that. I'm notoriously bad with dates, and this is no exception.

It had been so long since I'd had a cold that I felt surprised when I developed a sore throat a few days ago. "What's this?," I wondered. "Oh, right." It didn't take long for me to recognize the symptoms of illness, but it still shocked me nonetheless. I had grown accustomed not to getting the usual predictable seasonal stuff, so when it happened, albeit routinely, I couldn't comprehend it. With regard to the MS nonsense, I would go for weeks or months with double-vision, unbeknown to anyone else. It wasn't an outward physical manifestation of the internal turmoil that my defectively wild white blood cells (or leukocytes, if you want to get clinical about it) wreaked, so I could get away with acting like nothing was wrong. No one could tell, and since my MS isn't painful, I didn't have to risk displaying a grimace when I'd forget to stifle it.

It still is an uncomfortable feeling to be sick, but at this point I welcome anything that signals a departure from the slog I feel daily and unremittingly. To anyone else, a cold or flu would be a huge drag. For me, though, I'm actually excited to have one, because it means that my autoimmune bullshit has subsided enough to allow my body to be corrupted. I realize that I sound like a psychopath to embrace a cold in such a way, or at least a battered, delusional wife.

"This means he loves me." Actually, it means that he loves himself to an unhealthy degree. Yes, getting sick means some germ has invaded my bloodstream (at least I think that's how this thing works--remember, I was an English major). It also means that my immune system has taken a breather, which is good because it battered me around enough for a good while.

I'm always amazed at the calories burnt by certain despicable people. Why hit when you can nap? I've napped more than enough for this lifetime, though, so I'm content to lie down and get ravaged.

That sounds like a glorification of rape, which disgusts me. One of my favorite songs of the year, by The Raveonettes, decrees that "Boys who rape/Should all be destroyed." I couldn't agree more, but, with regard to commonplace germs, I embrace prosaic disease.

It still sucks to be sick, but this fever means that my body loves me. Ironically.

R