No, I'm not talking about Christmas, I'm talking about the time of year where I take a week off or so, unwind, get real comfortable and then get real REAL sick. When I was in school, this always happened on a break of sorts. Though I have no medical training what so ever, I've always reasoned it out to be this: the weeks before the break, I always ran myself into the ground with midterms or finals combined with tons of boozing. Combine that with my refusal to properly cover my feet during the winter months with constant sandal wearing, you would think I would get sick, but sooner. I then realized that once the dust settles and I am able to relax, that is when I get sick. Therefore, my germs are smart as balls. They know that if they attack when I am in full swing, they will have little chance to do the most damage. It is like waiting for an opposing army to finish a really long battle where they think they have defeated a strong and formidable enemy, only to find out when they sit down to rest and reflect that an even bigger evil still lurks about. So the germs wait. They wait till my white blood cells think they are out of the worst and they most likely reproduce like wild flowers. Then, when I lay down for a week of laying on the couch and watch nothing but Law & Order and various white trash shows, they attack, dead on.
This year they decided D-Day would be Christmas.
It first started at 1 AM when I woke up and couldn't really swallow due to my throat pounding and burning. I knew from here on it would be a doosey of a day. I searched frantically for some NyQuil hoping that my brother's fiance didn't take the last one due to her not feeling well the same day. Luckily I found one last dose ready and willing to do combat with my intruders. They did not know what they were getting themselves into.
When I awoke later that morning, a morning where I'll usually run around like a puppy, not knowing what to do with all the new toys and gifts that fill my living room, I wandered downstairs, blanket over my head like a child acting like a ghost with a bed sheet, sat down in front of the tree with the rest of my family and did not talk for about two hours. I couldn't. The germs had taken control of the head and neck and were on their way to the lungs. A resistance was holding them back just enough for me to send re-enforcements: Irish Tea.
I'm pretty sure the reason the Irish live so long while being jolly little alchies is because of the wonders Barry's Tea will do to your body. I am still sick, but within an hour after drinking one simple glass, I was able to eat breakfast with much ease as opposed to trying to force down every morsel of food without groaning in agony. But I knew I wasn't out of the woods yet. In my earlier years, I would have taken this as a sign that I have won the war, but this was only a small victory. I knew there was still more fight in the enemy, thus leading to more bed.
Five hours. I haven't taken a five hour nap since college and that was after a 26 hour study/booze session. When I woke up this time, I did not feel any more refreshed, though I woke up in the same health state that I fell asleep in, which is actually a good thing. Usually when I'm sick and fall asleep, my immune system does the same, and when I wake up I'll usually feel 5 times worse than I did.
As of now, I'm still feeling like I did when I woke up. I'm sore all over, can't decide if my head wants to stay congested or not, and have a slight tickle in the back of my throat that randomly hurts like hell just about ever hour. My only hope is that thing will pass before I go back to Staten Island for more exciting tales from the Sports Information Office.