Laid Low by the Flu

Oh, the Flu. You can run, but you can't hide. The flu is insidious. It sneaks up from behind, smacks you on the head, and you go down like a ton of bricks.

No use claiming how tough you are, that you can handle anything; the flu knows better. It may be small, but it will beat you. The Flu doesn't care that you have obligations, schedules, appointments. The Flu doesn't care who you are or what you need to do. Finally, raise the white flag, "I surrender".

Four days in bed with Flu's heavy boot on your back, your nose full of cotton, throat full of sand and an anvil on your head. Days and nights all the same as you alternate between half-wakeful rousings to blow your nose and feverish dreams of untwisting the same darn puzzle over and over and over. Stumble downstairs once in a while to sit upright in a chair for an hour in front of the TV trying to feel half-human again, only to stagger back upstairs to drop back into bed wracked with coughing.

2 gallons of orange juice, 2 boxes of tissues later. Finally the flu begins to relent, slowwlly to release it's hold, leaving you feeling like you have been run over by a truck, but at least feeling like you might someday be able to function like yourself again.

Yep, the flu stinks. I'm going back to bed.