Man Cold

As I write I am feeling like a piece of crap. No...........I don't want a piece of crap, I feel like I am a piece of crap. Its all my fault. I have tempted the Gods – or fate, depending on your viewpoint. It happened like this:

On Monday evening I was sat in the sauna of my leisure club. I was having a good sweat. A really good sweat. I enjoy having a good sweat. Sitting in a sauna having a good sweat is one of the ecstatic delights I look forward to at the end of the day, especially if the day is a Monday. I don't like Mondays. Monday Monday, can't trust that day.

So, to recap – I don't like Mondays apart from that part of a Monday where I am sat having a good sweat in a very hot sauna. I hope this is clear, I can't make it any clearer. If its not clear, then I can arrange therapy.

Anyway, there I was sat feeling at peace with the world and wondering how the poor people are getting on (I've nothing against poor people, you understand, I just don't have an appetite to join them. As Woody Allen once put it, - “Given the choice between wealth or poverty I would always choose wealth, if only for financial reasons”). I couldn't put it clearer than that if I tried. You try if you want to, but I'm not for trying – though some might think I am trying. The old ones are the best!

I am feeling delirious.

Suddenly the door swung open and in walked some bloke, my only co-sweater. As we sat and perspired in unison, I decided to enter into conversation, with him rather than myself, lest he thought me mad. I mentioned to him that since I have been using the sauna, I have hardly ever had a cold, and what colds have threatened, have been very short lived.

I am not superstitious, but nevertheless I felt the urge to touch lots of wood. This was not difficult as I was reclining on a wooden slatted bench. My sweaty companion replied that my statement was very dangerous, that I should not say things like that, and I was tempting fate. He was right.

That night, I retired to bed feeling happy and relaxed. I awoke in the early hours of the morning feeling somewhat odd, with a rough feeling developing in my throat, a slight shiveryness pervading my body and the words “Oh bugger” being repeated over and over again in my mind.

Yesterday I went to work feeling somewhat frayed at the edges and not in the best of moods. Perhaps I should have stayed away, but as one who others look to for an example I felt I owed it to them to set the example of perseverance against all odds. On the other hand, there is always the danger of sharing my infection with my colleagues, so its a bit of an awkward tightrope to walk. However, on the basis that the air is already no doubt laden with all these bugs, I didn't really think my presence would really makes much difference, so long as I didn't walk around sneezing over everybody.

Today I returned to work again, heavily dosed up on Max Strength kill everything fluid. Now, if it actually did do the job as it says on the pack, then given how I have been feeling today, I can only assume that I should be dead.

You will, no doubt, have realised by now, that I am suffering from that most common and deadly disease of all - a Man Cold. There is no ailment on this planet which causes as much misery as this most horrible of diseases. As I sit here suffering, my cheeks are burning (the ones on my face), my nose (dose) is running, my head feels heavy, my throat is getting steadily rougher, my eyes feel sore and tired and sinking into their sockets. In short, I am descending into the knacker's yard. Even worse than all this, there is some serious TV drama being played out in front of me and I have not only lost the plot, I never had it in the first place. I might make it through the night. We'll see what effect another shot of Max Strength killing fluid will do.

I'm going to bed. I might be gone some time.

Please feel sorry for me.

Ooh Nurse

I have got a new hobby. It's going to the doctors while trying to convince myself that I am not actually dying, though inwardly I suspect I am.

It all started like this:

A few years ago I took part in a 46 mile walk around part of Cambridgeshire. When I finished the walk - though by this time "walk" was the wrong word, it was more staggering towards oblivion; I noticed one of my toes was sticking through a hole, which had developed in one of my socks. When I took my boot off, there was no hole - it just felt like it.

The imaginary hole never went away, in fact the odd feeling of semi - numbness tingling yet still feeling started to spread, first to one toe and then them all, taking over both my feet, and now working up my legs. I saw a doctor some years ago and mentioned this to him, to be told it was probably a symptom of the sciatica, a complaint that pre-dated the walk.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I decided enough was enough, so I went to see the doctor. He was very good, very understanding, checked this and that and everything seemed to be okay. Nevertheless, bothered by the "spreading" syndrome (who wouldn't be?) he sent me for a blood test.

"Are you at all queasy?" asked the nurse before sticking the very long needle into my vein.
"No, not at all" I replied, "you're not going to kill me are you?" I replied with a laugh but not quite a thigh slap.
"Well, I don't aim to kill you" she replied while I mused that hopefully her aim was good.

In went the needle as I watched it sink into my vein feeling a sharp stab and a kind of ache. She then sucked up a number of blood samples to test for every disease known to man, telling me that one of the samples would have to go to Addenbrookes. Wow - Addenbrookes, must be serious after all. I counted it a real honour that a sample of my humble lowly blood should be deemed worthy of the attentions of such a learned and esteemed establishment. It was clear that I was definitely more than just a "take an aspirin and lie down for a while" type of patient.

I awaited the results. The days rolled by. Suddenly, amid a whole load of junk mail lying on my doormat I espied a HAND-WRITTEN white envelope addressed to me!

Instinctively I knew the situation was serious. Only junk mailers send me type written letters. I cautiously opened the envelope. My worst fears were realized - I was called back for yet another blood test. "Can you tell me why?" I asked the receptionist as I made the appointment, conscious of the fact that really only the doctor (who of course would not be available right at that very moment) should answer such questions. She repeated this to me, as you would expect while taking a quick peak at my notes and informing me that one of my readings was outside the normal limit, and they just wanted to do a second check to make sure.

That was it. I now knew it was serious. Thoughts started going through my head. Should I check the policies? Should I start putting my affairs in order? Should I start eating Mars Bars again?

This morning, I turned up for blood test number two. I waited in the waiting room where people were waiting playing a waiting game. My waiting game was "Sudoku" on my Nintendo DS, the ideal friend in a waiting room while waiting.

"Stephen McAdam" the nurse called out, and I rapidly saved my game and made like a sick man into the nurse's lair. Actually, she was very nice, as was the other one last time.

She did a blood pressure test. It was high.

"Are you on blood pressure tablets?" she asked, before trying twice more, finishing with an old fashioned sphygnamometer before confirming that, yes, there was no mistake, my blood pressure really is high.

"But I go to the Gym three times a week" I protested.

"Don't worry, just coming here can put your blood pressure up" she replied, and I commented that it might have been something to do with the Sudoku…………
She plunged another needle into my hapless vein and the dark red blood rapidly flowed forth.

My next appointment is next Friday.

The jury is out…………

Squirty Squirty Sick Sick

No pictures on this one - just words.

I've had the screaming lurgie, the shits, the technicolour yawns. Apparently it's an epidemic at the moment. Our local hospital is on emergency standby - they've had to close down a load of wards. I can't believe people actually go to A&E (the emergency room if your from the USA and reading this) with this affliction.

First my wife had it. I thought I might escape it. I was proudly telling someone at work earlier in the week I couldn't remember the last time I was off sick. The next day I felt slightly fragile when I pulled myself out of bed. I had burnt toast - one slice with margarine and low sugar jam for breakfast. I had a mug of hot sweet tea. I delivered my wife to her place of work and then still feeling slightly grotty delivered myself to mine.

I went to the loo for a number two. I nearly took off like a Saturn 5 rocket. As I walked down the corridor to my office I kind of knew staying at work was not an option. I walked into the main work area and told the girls (all women actually, but I like "girls" - its more casual and I think they like it too) I was going home. They replied that I ought to as I was turning blue. After a quick message to my boss' voice mail, I just about managed to crawl home in my trusty Subaru. I say "just about" because there was a huge great plume of smoke on the horizon which was spreading out over the countryside and into my delicate lungs. I don't know what was burning - but it was terrible. Also, there were traffic jams all over the place, as usual, so I had to divert taking twice as long to get home. Just what you need when you are about to explode!

As soon as I got home I let Sally out into her run to relieve herself (Sally is our lovable Boxer dog), and then went to bed, completed my last will and testament and promptly died. I resurrected shortly after midday to a feeling of nauseating waves going through my abdomen and the knowledge that I had to get my head down the toilet immediately if not sooner. This I did, and with a kind of wailing shouting scream sent jets of what had formerly been my food shooting from both ends - lovely!

I drank lots of water and took no medicines apart from some headache tablets as my eyeballs felt like someone was trying to push them into the back of my head. Apart from coming down - and lying down - in my dressing gown that evening, I had more or less total bed rest until around 9.00 the following morning when I dragged myself out of my coffin, had a shower, got dressed and attempted to do a few things around the house. It was about another 24 hours before I was back to eating anything that resembled a meal.

This morning I thought I would test my recovery by going to the gym. I ran for half an hour on the tread mill, accelerating in stages throughout, until I reached 15 kilometers an hour at the end. I was very happy with this. I now declare myself fully recovered and can't wait to get back to work tomorrow - not.

If you are worried about picking up this sickness, don't be. You only feel as if you are going to die, but probably won't actually die. If you do die, it will probably be because you are a man and as everyone knows men suffer far more than women - whatever the illness. Good luck!