Sickness Almost Always Cuts

I have heard on countless occasions that getting sick is simply a case of mind over matter. As someone whose matter is almost always ill this time of year, I thought I'd put that to the test. Guess what, mind-folks???

YOUR THEORY IS STUPID!

Not you, just your theory.

It all started sometime last week. I was working ten hour days, stressed to the nines, eating poorly and getting very little sleep. Also, I switched to a different insulin. I was feeling a little off. My head felt like it had grown twelve sizes and a thick layer of chinchilla fur. My stomach was going back and forth between sharp pains and rolling nausea. My back ached and my eyes felt a little droopy. I think I even said to Jero, "I feel like pooh".

After thirty one odd years, I know my body well enough to realize I was getting sick. Thinking of the repercussions to my paycheck if this thing went full blown, I decided to take a stand. So I concentrated really hard on these words:

I AM NOT GETTING SICK! FUCK SICK! SICK IS FOR WIMPS! I AM NOT A WIMP! I AM AN AMAZON WARRIOR HERE TO FUCK UP YOUR ILLNESS SCHEME WITH THE POWERS OF MY AMERICAN GLADIATOR MIND!

Every night before I fell asleep I would repeat those words. In my head, mind you, so as not to make Jero think I had finally gone batcrap crazy. Every morning I woke up feeling the same or a little worse.

On Wednesday, I woke up feeling like leprechauns had taken turns beating me and pouring whiskey down my throat. I crawled into the shower and waited for my head to clear. It did not. I got ready for work and was drinking my coffee while talking to Jero when the nausea mobile rolled up. I think nausea is in a gang because it felt like it was in one of those jacked up cars with the crazy hydraulics and the bass that turns your insides to jelly. I ran to the bathroom and was thankful I hadn't put anything solid in my stomach yet. Still, I put a smile on my face and went to work.

I was determined so many intelligent people couldn't all be SO DAMN WRONG and continued chanting my mantra day and night.

Today I awoke in a daze. It was like Cheech and Chong were reenacting their favorite days of yore just behind my eyeballs. Even after coffee, a Poptart and being at work for a couple of hours, I found that I was still having to focus really hard just to keep myself together.

Still I chanted, but with a little less enthusiasm.

I am NOT getting sick! I'm an effing Amazon. Sick BAD. Mind good. Something about fucking you up...

I decided I wanted to make my homemade mac and cheese for dinner, I told Jero as much which meant I couldn't really back out even though I didn't really want to go to the grocery store and I really didn't want to spend any more time on my feet than absolutely necessary. But I would be fine, because I wasn't getting sick.

Cooking dinner involved doing the dishes. Now, I made stuffed pork chops for dinner last night. Do you know what stuffing that was previously stuck to a baking pan and has now been soaking in apple scented soap for twelve hours looks like?

DOG POOP!

But not normal dog poop. More like the poop of a dog who has what I have AND Ebola.

I took one look at it and got violently ill.

Somewhere between wishing my bathroom was cleaner and realizing the vomit didn't care there was this little flash. I don't know if you would call it an epiphany, but it was pretty damn close.

ALL THOSE ASSHOLES ARE WRONG!

It doesn't matter what your brain says, illnesses DO exist. They are not the fucking Easter Bunny or Unibeavers. Viruses are real, folks, and every once in a while they will KICK YOUR ASS.

Sure, you can do things like eat healthy, get rest, drink non-Pepsi related products and take your Fred shaped vitamins to boost your immune system. And yes, the power of positive thinking is also real, but it's not a Godlike power. It's not a genie in a bottle or a get out of jail free card. It doesn't work like grade school where you just had to say "no cutsies" and all was resolved. Did you get that, brainiacs?

YOU CAN'T NO CUTSIES ILLNESS!