I think I almost died yesterday. After spending Wednesday sick at home and then Thursday back at work, I was struck down for good on Friday morning. I've spent the last 24 hours asking Mike to "kill me."
The first thing people assume when you tell them that you're too sick to go to work is that you're either puking or pooping your guts out. I feel like a big faker when I reveal that I have absolutely no intestinal distress. Although moving vehicles and elevators often make me queasy, I just don't get the barfing flu. And, just for the record, I've had problems with the other sort of involuntary evacuation only once in my adult life. I suppose I am a biological oddity. It certainly makes for a tidy bout of the flu.
I spent yesterday too weak to move. Only with great effort did I get up to eat or go to the bathroom. This morning wasn't much better, until I took my generic Day-Quil pill. Thanks to pseudo-ephedrine, I felt well enough to pick up the house, do some sewing, and fold laundry. I'm on the mend, but, oh, was that flu AWFUL. For anyone who hasn't had it yet, beware.