The bug that’s going around finally caught me. I coughed, but didn’t think anything of it. Then, I coughed again. Within hours, I felt my chest tightening as the cough became more pronounced and other symptoms crept upon me. I cursed.
My cursing wasn’t directed at the bug, but at two women. One of them sat behind me at a conference the day before coughing non-stop. Mid-day, she confided to her seat mate she’d been diagnosed with the flu earlier in the week, but having paid, didn’t want to miss this special speaker. The other was a friend I hadn’t seen for a few weeks who came up, hugged and kissed me, and in bringing me up to date on her family mentioned her daughter had a bad case of the flu last week, but she’d started Tamiflu immediately, so she was sure that was why she’d only felt a little ill the past few days.
I cursed because considering my calendar for the upcoming weeks, the last thing I needed to be was sick. But, I was.
My calendar always is booked, but with out-of-state travel coming up in the next few weeks, I’d squeezed extra things into that week. Within hours, I knew days of plans were going to be a non-go. I cancelled my next day’s activities, which would have brought me in contact with friends and family, and crawled into bed. Instead of the next day’s meetings and a fun lunch and dinner, I used part of that day clearing my calendar for the rest of the week. Plans juggled on my calendar were ruined. I felt bad about that and I felt bad in general.
After a day or two, I wasn’t fit for interaction with other humans, but I could focus on my computer. I wrote. I knocked out a short story and the end of a novel. The quiet was nice. I attacked our tax papers. The solitude felt good. I wrote some more. Nothing interrupted my concentration. I read.
I got well. Life went back to its normal craziness. It’s nice to be back in my regular groove of insanity, but there was something to be said about stopping the world for a few days.