Mat Goes Down

There are two stereotypical ways men deal with sickness, and they are completely contradictory. One is that when men get even just a little sick, they revert to a moaning and complaining five-year-old that expects to be completely babied. The other notion is that when men get ill they just suck it up and pretend like nothing is wrong and refuse to go the doctor, even when it is absurdly obvious that they must. So far this year, I’ve managed to prove both of these stereotypes to at least be somewhat based on realty.

I’ve been down with the flu three times this winter, and during that time I groaned and collapsed and complained and generally drove my wife crazy. This went on for roughly two months, between January and February, and I got hit harder than I’ve been in years. Not only was I down, but at different times also my three little kids, and eventually my wife as well. It was completely exhausting, overwhelming painful, and it pretty much turned me off to the topic of sickness in general.

So Saturday night, I started having a sore throat, and I ignored it. By Sunday, the pain was so great I was no longer able to really swallow. I was also drooling constantly, but such are the humiliations of life. By Monday, I could barely move, had a really high fever, and cold sweats that made it impossible to sleep. My tonsils were so swollen that the slightest quiver back there felt like knifes being shoved into the deep tissue. But I didn’t complain, I just tried to suck it up and let it pass. Mostly, I laid on the couch and watched reruns of The Deadliest Catch and focused on guys who were in worse shape then I was. By Tuesday, I was pretty much delirious. I tried drinking water regularly, but it just took a really long time to drink even a little, and I was loosing fluids constantly. My hatred of doctors’ offices (the rude receptionists, the arrogance of setting appointments only to make you wait in the lobby and then again in the room) meant I have no general physician.

By order of my wife, I was finally forced off the couch to the emergency room. I figured had Strep Throat (correctly it turned out), and I knew that required a lab test and meds, but still I didn’t want the bother. Because I am a macho asshole, I insisted on driving myself. The only good that came out of this move was that my wife didn’t have to witness me nearly pass out during my interview with the nurse there, who (after admonishing me from not coming in two days ago) asked me, “Do you always roll your eyes back into your head after you say a sentence?” Nor would I have wanted her or the kids to have seen me go into near cardiac arrest after they gave me a steroid shot, which resulted in my heart rate going into overdrive, my body temperature to shoot up, and me to pass out again. Nor would I have wanted them to see me, three hours later after all the oxygen, cardiac monitors, and IVs were removed, begging to be discharged so I could drive myself home once more.

I’m on bed rest now, for the rest of the week. My classes are cancelled, although I’m surrounded by papers to grade. I feel weak, but generally fine. Still, I’m not getting out of this bed for a couple of days. That’s not a complaint, though. That’s a fact.