Flu

November 7, 2006 at 1:03 am (Uncategorized)

wile045.jpg

“Anything you can do, I can do better,” are lyrics from an Irving Berlin song in the 1946 musical Annie Get Your Gun.

Nice, but I’ve come up with my own, much more compelling version. “Any disease you contract, I can contract more virulently.”

Now I admit, you have to rush the words in my reworking. But Steven Sondheim gets away with this type of musical blabbering all the time. I think I have definite potential. If this writing gig doesn’t work out, maybe I can launch a second career as a lyricist. Rebecca, Get Your Flu! might just be the Broadway hit of 2009. Or maybe, You’ll Visit the Toilet So Many Times You’ll Really Want to Get Your Gun – And Blast Your Head Off!

It’s been a rough week. As I’ve already explained in song, I caught a 48-hour stomach bug from Andrew, and, in my immune-suppressed condition, turned it into a seven-day extravaganza of diarrhea, high fevers, and full body aches. Looking on the bright side, I lost a few pounds of prednisone weight. And I also got to examine the floor tiles in our bathroom for extended periods of time. Plus, I learned some interesting tidbits about human digestion. Apparently, your body can liquefy anything it chooses to. Very quickly. And painfully. It can even liquify water, which is already a liquid. Go figure.

A flu is just a flu. Everyone loses time with stomach bugs and head colds. I should stop feeling sorry for myself and begin to venture more than a few feet from a toilet. But I’m sick of being sick. When a friend asked me how I was doing, I realized exactly why the latest round of microbes have made me so grumpy. It’s because every time I get sick, I lose momentum. Right as I feel like I’m getting into the swing of things on writing projects, dinner party plans, exercise, and activities with Andrew, I hit a big brick wall of illness and WHAM!, I’m on my ass for a week or so. Then I scrape myself off the wall, much like Wile E. Coyote reinflates himself after inadvertently flattening himself with his latest Acme invention intended for Roadrunner. I start running again, picking up momentum. All is well for a couple of weeks, and then WHAM!, another brick wall.

This is life on prednisone. This is life with an auto-immune disease. Even if I stopped taking prednisone tomorrow, supposedly its immune-suppressing properties would persist for about a year. So I guess I’d better get used to it. I might as well sing. “My lungs are alive with the sound of granulomae…” set to the tune of “The Hills Are Alive” from The Sound of Music.

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