Flu-Rida

Who's pregnant? and other musings from a virus-addled brain

Disclaimer: There is nothing deep or profound about this post. My brain is still recovering which means I’m capable of a pithy line here and there but not a whole lot else. Take the joy💣 for what it is. I’ll be back with more substance next week.

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I thought I was pregnant.

For one terrifying, PTSD-inspired moment, my flu-rattled brain stared at those two pink lines and thought “Oh. Fuck.”

Now, granted, there were some pretty obvious clues that this was not the case. First of all, I hadn’t peed on that stick. Instead, I dutifully stuck a long Q-tip not quite lobotomy depth up my nose and swirled, trying hard not to sneeze as it tickled my inflamed nose hairs.

Second, I hadn’t asked my husband to buy a pregnancy test. I asked him to buy a Flu B test. Because that’s the strand of flu going around in the hood here. Apparently, efficiency has now dictated that those of us with nondescript symptoms akin to “feels like death” need to be tested for both strains of flu and COVID all at the same time. Who knew?

Third, if my brain was functioning, which it was not, would be every single word on said test, like the title - “COVID 19 & Flu A/B” - but, in my defense, I’d like to contend that whatever male moron came up with this test has clearly never sat suspended on their toilet having spent $60 on three different tests anxiously waiting for two pink lines to appear. So, excuse me, but PTSD doesn’t read.

After I got over the initial cold sweat induced not by said flu, but by the two pink lines, I then became morbidly curious as to whether or not it was actually possible to have Flu A and Flu B simultaneously. Apparently, there is a result for that according to the paper insert’s “Results Interpretation” section. I said a silent prayer for those poor souls.

Morbid curiosity being what it is, I of course had to then know if the awfullest of awful can exist, the trifecta of viral load. Somewhat disappointed, I did not find a result pattern indicating a positive result for Flu A, Flu B, and COVID. I can only surmise that anyone with that combination of yuck coursing through their veins is too sick to find out from an at home lobotomy/pregnancy test.

I forgot what a useless sack of flesh and bones one becomes when the flu attacks your system. My brain atrophied to pure mush within 24 hours of my first symptom, and walking up the stairs felt like summiting Rushmore. I lay completely still for hours at a time, something I don’t do even when I’m sleeping most nights and struggled to draft the most basic of emails. During my virtual visit with the Goddess that is my NP, my mere appearance on the screen had her typing in the script for Tamiflu, Flonase, cough syrup with codeine and some “throat beads” that I still can’t pronounce but now swear by.

It is rare that being sick does anything to my life other than piss me off. I am a champ at muscling through. I don’t mind carrying on my business at a desk stocked with Kleenex, bubbly water, and an emergency dose of DayQuil. I try not to infect anyone, but I’m rarely contagious through a computer, so its not difficult to carry on, even if that means a few 10-minute snoozes on the floor of my office. The flu, however, is not that kind of sick. The flu is a reckoning.

There have been three times in my adult life that I have been humbled by an infectious agent more powerful than my will to not fuck up my schedule. Twice have now been because of the flu. The other was due to cellulitis in my face and neck brought on by the bite of an infected mosquito. Uh…yeah…we’re in that ballpark.

In all three cases, here’s what I’ve learned in no particular order:

1. When sitting upright becomes a chore, it’s best to just lay down and stay there.

2. All nutritional programming goes out the window. I ate crackers for three days straight. If it sounds like it will stay in after it goes down, its on the menu.

3. When you start to get pissed off at people for asking you to do things while you’re near death, pause and consider if you’ve told them that you are near death. If not, start there. They typically become far more conciliatory all on their own.

4. Basic joys like the taste of coffee or opening your eyes or keeping snot in your nose are going to be hard to come by. Adjust your expectations. Things like NOT having diarrhea can become a major joy💣.

5. Love that people love you enough to want to help you. And then kindly rasp that if they would just take care of themselves so you don’t have to, they would be taking care of you. Except if they’re under the age of 10. Don’t do that. Just yell for your partner and point.

6. Not long after you take your first dose of anything prescription, you’re going to get “fake well.” This is a placebo effect. Ride that high, but know there’s a second crash coming.

7. The recovery period is akin to a hangover. Expect to feel dumb. And slow. And fat. And out of shape. You might be able to sweat it out, but chances are you’ll just end up vomiting and embarrassing yourself. Time and water, people. Time and water.

8. Accept sympathy. Feel sorry for yourself. Whine a little. The kids are doing it. You can too.

9. If you must do work of any sort, invite ChatGPT to the party. Assume its going to be your virtual EA for the week. Turn on all the AI-powered assistants in every one of your systems and let those biased-AF bad boys do your bidding.

10. Don’t take pregnancy tests. Or any tests really. You’ll just think you’re pregnant and that’s confusing.

Good luck out there friends. I spent one week shaking hands with strangers, and you saw what happened to me. Take your vitamins, wash your hands, cover your coughs, and be well!