A Cough & a Sneeze

Is this how it ends for me? Not in a blaze of glory. Not even crossing the terrifying threshold of thirty (the universally agreed-upon expiration date for anyone under 29) but by something as pathetically weak as a cough and a sneeze? I wish I could say I was being dramatic, but trust me, dear reader... I am not.

It all started with a joke. A harmless, sick joke I posted on Wednesday about maybe being infected. Haha, so funny, right? We had just survived back-to-back weekends of travel, riding the stress rollercoaster with a side of severe sleep deprivation. Oh, and to spice things up, we had just returned from Vegas. So honestly, I thought, “ I just need some solid sleep.”

Oh, how wrong I was.
The DMs started flooding in.
The group chat started pinging.
Infected.
Infected.
INFECTED.
What a souvenir.

From there, things spiraled faster than the slots taking your money. I was officially forced to call out sick for the third time in my illustrious career. Yes, you heard that right. Three times since my very first job scooping at Licks.

Let’s review the Hall of Fame Sick Days:

• Sick Day #1: After the COVID booster (also, we were just entering our two-month notice because we were moving from Hawaii, so honestly, who was fighting their way into work? Not me.)

• Sick Day #2: Food poisoning. Straight off the honeymoon plane and into food-poisoned misery. I was supposed to heroically return for one workday before Thanksgiving break... but my body had other plans. Was honestly a tough look. 2 weeks off with a 5 day holiday weekend ahead with one work day in between. I spent that day on the can.

• Sick Day #3: This. The cough. The sneeze. The betrayal.

Wednesday morning, I had woken up full of ambition. This was the day I was going to begin marathon training. I even packed a running bag for after work.
By noon, my body said, "nah," as the body aches crept in.
By 2 PM, my brain was in a dense, sticky fog, my body aches were raving, and my health bar dipped to a concerning 65/100. Running? Cancelled. I told myself, “I’ll run Thursday.” LOL.

Thursday arrived and, spoiler alert, I was worse. Body aches. Sinus drama. Full-body exhaustion. I was about 50% health. This was a defining moment. I balanced on the edge. I must win.

• Orange juice? Chugged.

• Breakfast sandwich? Devoured.

• Sudafed? Popped.

• Yogurt, soup, salmon salad? Forced down with grim determination.

• Caffeine? Banished.
  Hydration was my sword. I was going to FIGHT.

And yet... I lost.

By Friday morning, my health dropped to a pitiful 15/100. I entered the Gulag.
I had no choice. I had to call out.

The next 24 hours were a blur of misery. I napped but couldn’t sleep. I was hot. I was freezing. I was... profoundly, soul-crushingly bored. Eating felt like a chore. Flipping over in bed was a full-body exhaustion. Netflix? Disgusting. YouTube? Gross. TikTok? Over it. I somehow ended up watching Revenge of the Sith, entirely thanks to the 20th-anniversary marketing blitz.

I went to bed at 6 PM like an old man from a Victorian novel.
I couldn’t sleep. I coughed. I sneezed. I stared at the ceiling, thinking:
"This is truly how I go."

This morning, I woke up feeling 70/100.
We may live to fight another day after all.