Far from Down with the Sickness

As a few of you might know, I’ve been feeling…  Well, let’s just say sick.  My lovely wife suggested that I go to the doctor and see if what I have is actually the flu.  Suggested is putting it a little mildly, but she has good reason to be concerned.  My son hasn’t been given the flu vaccine and I won’t get it myself because the one time I got it, I wound up with the flu!  In regard to the flu vaccine, I’m of the mindset of, “Why introduce the virus into my system just to ‘protect’ me from it?”  Sure, there’s really more to it, it’s weakened, etc., etc., but that’s just how I feel. 

So, the doctor’s student aide came in and looked me over, then talked to the wonderful doctor that we use.  (We’ll call him Dr. H)  Dr. H came in and talked to me, saying that he doesn’t believe I have the flu because the fever seems non-present (which is odd, considering) and not all my symptoms match up specifically for the flu.  He did, however, state that he is certain that my body is fighting something off from a combination of the symptoms as well as my dizziness, disorientation, and occasional bouts of  incoherence.  I think his exact words were, “Dude, you look pretty rough,” but I could easily be wrong.  I really think I heard him say, “Damn, you look f***ed up,” yet somehow I doubt it.  What can I say, he’s great!  Personable, attentive, and not one to pull punches, thank G~d!  I hate doctors that dance around things and don’t tell you anything. 

Anywho, now I’m at home on my self-imposed bed-rest.  Maybe the better word for it is “Quarantine.”  I’m laying in bed, keeping myself away from my son and wife, and I hate myself for it.  I want to be with them.  I need them around me.  This house just doesn’t feel like home without Kikat’s ever-shifting moods and my Kippy’s trying to get into everything.  Add to that, there’s laundry I WANT to get done but I’m sore and it actually hurts to walk.  There are dishes that I need to get washed, but the same reason prevents me from getting up easily.  I’m freezing, but I don’t want to add more blankets because as soon as I do, I’ll be burning up.  I want to get some sleep in, rest and let my body heal because I feel exhausted from just walking up to the office, but I hear myself in the back of my head telling me that it’s nothing, that I can work through this, that I’m stronger than this, and that I’m being a p**** by not getting up and doing what I know needs done.  I can deal with this, I hear a voice screaming at me, There’s no reason for me to be pretending I’m some friggin’ invalid!  Another voice yells at me that I’m pathetic because I’m being irresponsible for wanting to take care of my son while I’m sick.  I’m irresponsible because I want to take the responsibility of caring for my son.  I can’t tell you how much THAT one’s f***ing me up. 

So, if I’m feeling so miserable, if I’m hurting so much, if I feel so pathetic, then why am I writing this?  Because I don’t know if I’ll be able to admit it later.  I’ll tell people that I’m fine, that nothing really bothered me.  The truth is, I’m not fine.  I feel weak, pathetic, almost helpless, yet I don’t want people to know this.  I’m Wulf, I’m tough.  I can handle everything to the max, at 110%, even when I’m bent over with the plague.  Nothing can stop me, right?  If I tell myself that often enough, maybe it’ll become true.

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