After one of the healthiest winters in my medical history, I can honestly say March came in like an adorable, little lamb and left like a raging lunatic lion by taking me down not once, but three times in the span of two weeks.
Fingers crossed April is kinder.
When I was a child, the only thing better than a snow day was a sick day, because you didn’t have to go to school and chances are someone would make you Jello (the good kind; cherry).
Growing up means sick days are just that: sick days. There is no playing hooky anymore because the joyous rebellion of skipping class and borrowing your buddy’s notes has now been replaced by the reality that your email inbox will triple every hour you’re away.
Nobody is going to pick up the slack, Jack.
You want Jello? Make it yourself. Also, the teenagers drank all the ginger ale, ate your crackers and there is no soup, so prepare to do your Walking Dead strut through the local grocery store in a questionable outfit that may or may not be your pyjamas, with just the right amount of drool dripping from your slacken mouth so nobody, and I do mean nobody, talks to you.
This is not how a day off work should be at all. A day off should involve peace, solitude, uninterrupted binge television watching and long naps: you know, fun. It should not entail quality time in the bathroom where you lie on the cold tile floor praying for relief and fast access to the Swiffer Sweeper. Damn you, flu.
Rest is another myth of home sick days. I ended up washing the dishes; I cleaned out the fridge, took the garbage out, tripped over the kids’ shoes at the front door, so organized the space only to find gym clothes that smell like, well, gym clothes, so then off I went to the laundry room, tossed in a load of laundry, cleaned the litter box and eventually got back to bed.
Don’t expect empathy from the dog either; mine is used to sleeping all day and clearly, I was a disruption to her routine. I crawled under the covers and slept on my side in an S-bend so as not to disrupt the dog and the two cats that nestled around me, trapping me in the sweaty confines of my duvet. But hey, it beats sleeping with a snoring spouse (it really does).
Thanks to the advent of mobile phones and laptops, I eventually ended up working from the comfort of my bed and here’s the weird thing: I enjoyed it. Perhaps I was sicker than I thought.
Working from home was quiet, I got a lot done and I reduced my stress by staying on top of workload that awaited my return at the office. All things considered, I am not so good at sitting still and so I chose distraction over television.
Whatever this illness bug was, it was a good reminder for me to be grateful for my health, thankful for the comforts of home, the demands of a job I enjoy and, of course, cherry-flavoured Jello.