I’m sick. I’m not the kind of sick that makes me hide my vibrator in case my mother cleans out my house after my death, but sick nonetheless. It’s not H1N1, which appears to be afflicting only perfectly healthy junior high kids, but some sort of irritating sinus malaise. My nose only runs at unfortunate times, like when I’m at least five feet from a box of tissues, and then it pours forth at an alarming pace. My teeth hurt this morning, always the kiss of death, and my cheeks hurt now despite regular ingestion of cherry lye cough syrup, ibuprofen, and liters of Diet Coke. I’m relatively immobile and this pleases the cats greatly. Well at least Bug seems to fancy it, as he has pressed his body firmly against every inch of my side while I’ve been snoozing in a Theraflu haze. I’ve done little today but run the dishwasher and put in a load of laundry. I did move clothes from the washer to the dryer, but when I started to feel like I’d summited Everest without oxygen I left the clean clothes to fend for themselves on the dirty windowsill and went back out to the couch. I can still hear the washcloths screaming.
Make no mistake, I have always been a sick wuss, a little less robust than the rest of humanity. I’d use it to my advantage to get out of piano recitals and makeout sessions, citing cramps or nerves or hysteria. But these wee little bumps of illness knock me out with a little more oomph than they use to. I recall a bout of bronchitis at 21 that did little to deter me from a regular routine of smoking Marlboro Lights and drinking Milwaukee’s Best and yelling sorority sisters’ names at inappropriate volumes. Before I knew it, bronchitis became walking pneumonia, and only then did I slow down. My mindset changed when I hit 35, maybe when my ob/gyn used the words “mammogram” and “get one” in the same sentence, and I’ve reached a point at which the odd nodules and pains give me actual pause. And as we know, pause leads to worry, and on occasion worry leads to wine and signing up for bar league softball teams. I’ve officially moved from “Not like it’s gonna kill me, let’s drink Beam out of each other’s navels” to “Will you take a look at this? No. WITH YOUR READING GLASSES ON.”
On Friday I also found a small bump on my hand, right where my middle finger meets my palm. It’s the size of a tiny pea, but firm and immobile and slightly grotesque. I know because the minute I found it, I poked it repeatedly with a sanitized Bic and examined it under multiple light sources. I also interrupted people’s lunches and performance reviews and forced them to examine me. One friend diagnosed it as a tumor, and I of course jumped on that crazy train with both feet, thinking that this bump was evidence of other malignancy and that I’d soon be dancing in the sky disco with MJ and Patrick Swayze. Another told me it was probably a callous, and then we shared one of those moments a group does when all parties laugh hysterically at the obvious, because it is a well-established fact that my most physical labor involves running conditioner through my hair. The Monkey diagnosed it more logically as a ganglion cyst, which just by the sound of it prompted worry I’d develop troll-like features and lose all of my hair. Neither has happened yet, thankfully. So of course I’ve moved on to worrying about issues of real consequence, like whether he’s a doctor and not really a monkey after all.
23 Comments
Perhaps you should get sick more often, as it makes you very very very funny (instead of just very very funny).
OK, fine: be well, little Kris.
Aren’t monkeys and doctors practically the same anyway? Except that monkeys don’t wear pants, of course.
@Mighty Hunter -Wait. Your doctor wears pants?!?! Man, I gotta get outta here!
Happy flu season to one and all. Hopefully your sinuses will run free as the three-legged cats in the clover.
As for the palm cyst, the thing really to watch for is hair growing on the palms – blindness follows.
In the meantime, take a few of these and call me at lunchtime?
You’ll be fine! But see a doctor anyway.
Feel better, you cheeky monkey.
All this monkey talk just makes spew cartoon tourettes. . .
If it doesnt have a tail it’s not a monkey, even if it has a monkey kind of shape. If it doesn’t have a tail its not a monkey, if it doesnt have a tail it’s not a monkey, it’s an ape.
Maybe it’s funnier when you can actually hear the music. Mmm, maybe not.
This is what happens when you have kids, you constantly have cartoon jingles stuck in your head, threatening to pop out at any moment. . . .feel better!
Order some chicken soup, go lie down, and for the love of g-d, step away from Dr. Google.
Take it one ailment at a time. Start with the one that garners the most sympathy and work your way down.
J/k feel better, kiddo!
Talk to me when the spouse gives you the weekend long stomach flu. Ugh. But I’m usually nauseous when having to watch the Tigers cough up a playoff spot anyway.
LULZ!!! the “theraflu haze” is the best adjective yet – liked it. I have been there were my teeth hurt and just thought of taking a shower or brushing my teeth makes me tired. The cyst thing sucks because I have on on my wrist, that I thought went away a few years ago BUT ITS BACK! and kinda nasty actually.
Anyway – too funny and sorry you are sick
quit monkeying around and go to the dr.
You are probably better by now, at least I hope so. I like you as “not yet a wino!”
Secretia
Eeew, flu. I’m required to get a flu shot every year (work) and I still usually get a minor strain for at least a few days. I hope you’re better by now!
(A friend of mine had ganglion cysts in her palms. Snip snip, stitch stitch and she’s fine.)
You’re not dying. You just can’t think of anything better to do. ;-)
dude. you did dishes/laundry- that’s some serious housework (by my standards) when i’m HEALTHY. overachiever.
My dog had one of those cysts once, on her butt. It actually had ROOTS. Just thought you’d want to know.
My inner Larry David wants to say “it could be Lyme.”
Aww, that’s terrible. I feel so bad for… your washcloths… no I’m kidding! I hate that feeling of must-not-move-or-will-feel-worse. I hope you feel better soon. Had a ganglion cyst once on top of my wrist… went away. Drink your fluids and stay put for a bit.
I was reading this, just as I stumbled upstairs after making myself a bowl of soup and feeling worn out, worrying about the laundry in the basement and how will I ever get it to another level. I feel….lousy and have for five days now. Run down, chest congestion and a “non-productive cough.” Always a fan of the “non-productive cough.” I’m staring down a box of Mucinex and a bottle of water. Nose runs…some…not much but the fatigue and “buggy” feeling. Ugh. And you can’t do anything. So frustrating. Hoisting a container of antibiotics instead of wine toward ya. Bleh.
Well, I just hope you feel better real soon so that Kim has someone to hang out with besides Killian.
(what?)
Ok, FEEL BETTER!
it is prally a blister from working out so much
“It’s not H1N1, which appears to be afflicting only perfectly healthy junior high kids…”
Kris, I’ve clearly be absent from your blog too long. You always remind me of why I’ve been a reader for so long. Only you can make me want to actually write “lol.” Because it’s true. But I don’t write “lol.” It’s a thing I have.
Get better soon (if you haven’t already).