I have a cold. And I hate it. Like a whiny ridiculous baby. Good thing my husband is a way better person than I am because he’s taking care of my kid and letting me wallow in my bed. I thought I would share my experience with you, oh readers of the internet, because sharing is caring (also, my cold-mushed brain isn’t coming up with anything else). Without further ado, the five stages of a cold.
Stage 1: Fear and Panicked Prevention
This stage starts at the very first sign of any sort of illness whatsoever. A sneeze? Probably Ebola. A tickle in the throat? Throat cancer. A cough…werewolf syndrome. So what shall we do to ward off Ebola, throat cancer and werewolfery? We shall take a billion supplements. Now, research has shown that basically none of the things I do (which include taking copious amounts of vitamin C, a B12 complex, oregano oil, and zinc) have any effect, but I do them anyway, because the fear and panicked prevention phase has already begun and I’d probably drink monkey blood if I thought it would help. Then I go to bed early, but have a hard time sleeping for fear of the germs multiplying in my organs. I just pull the covers up to my nose and lay quietly to see if I can hear them plotting against me. (“Hey Jim, there’s some room here in her left nostril!” “Thanks, Archibald! This lady’s in for a doozy!”) Jim and Archibald, you stupid assholes.
Stage 2: It Begins
Any hope of preventing the onslaught of runny noses, scratchy throats and misery has now been squashed. Typically this stage consists of me dragging myself around the house, texting my husband a frowney face from time to time, then crawling off to writhe in the bed as soon as he gets home. Even though it’s clear that sickness has not been avoided, there’s still a hint of hope that it will only last a day or two. Yes, that’s right, if I sleep as much as possible and drink eighteen gallons of water, I’ll lick this thing quick. Pack your bags, Jim and Archibald.
Stage 3: Despair and Netflix
Jim and Archibald have taken over my body like the Cosa Nostra in Sicily (or like the Cosa Nose-stra. Get it? Nose? Runny nose? Meh.). After a time of being sick, when the realization that this is not a 24 hour thing sets in, stage three begins—the despair and Netflix stage. This is the stage in which I think things like, “I can’t remember what it’s like to be well” and “If I was feeling better I’d clean the whole house and exercise and make papier-mache and run for public office, but instead I’m going to die here, covered in snot with my peeling, crusty lips.” This is also the stage in which intermittent moaning occurs to remind the living that they should be leaving alms at my door. On the bright side, I’ve watched four seasons of Ally McBeal.
Stage 4: Faux-recovery
During this stage, the better-than-terrible feeling tricks me into thinking I’m healed and am also Superman so I should go run around the block as fast as I can to enjoy my newfound health. Two minutes of fresh air, however, reminds me that I am still a miserable mess and should lie down as soon as possible. Moaning resumes as my husband drags me back to the house.
Stage 5: Recovery!
Feeling well and chipper like a squirrel in springtime, I shower, do my makeup and head out on the town. I con my husband into taking me for coffee and plan out a day of grocery shopping and accomplishments. This lasts about three hours, until I remember that I’m actually a lazy person, and being a go-getter makes me sleepy. But who cares what I do? I’m well! And now I’ll sanitize my hands every hour and never touch an unclean thing again! Huzzah! And then my daughter licks the table at the coffee shop. Three days later she sneezes directly in my face. Countdown to stage 1.
How do you deal with colds? Are you the tough-it-out kind? Or do you experience these same five stages? Did you love that joke about the Cosa Nostra? (I know you did…don’t be snotty. Ha! Snotty! I’m on a freaking roll, I tell you. Or I’m sick and can’t tell the difference. Either way, I feel like a particularly spectacular brand of awesome right now. Don’t ruin it for me.)