I had previously thought that my bout with rabies this past summer was about as ugly as it gets. (Yes, the foaming at the mouth, side-stepping, pissed off and going for the throat rabies.) My leg swelled to twice it's size (and if you've ever seen one of my little fat legs, that in itself is scary and on the far end of the ugly scale).
There were red streaks running from a large and festering wound that was constantly oozing a variety of juices that my purple and black calf continually conjured up. I couldn't sleep at night for the pain, and I had to keep the leg elevated during the day- which was killer for me.
Shots, big pills, lectures from everyone and their little sister, and the health department.
It was a nightmare.
Very bad.
It was not,
however,
as bad as my recent affliction with the hinni flu.
Sprawled on the couch, supine and shaking, with four state police issue wool blankets and a Chihuahua foot warmer, I rolled for five days. I coughed a dry and non-productive cough, and with each deep bark I realized I knew what it felt like to have a rusty Moundsville shiv driven into the deepest parts of my ample chest. .
I died twice on a Sunday night, came back to life on Monday long enough to get up and pee, then went into a brief coma only to die again on Tuesday.
A lady bedecked in a white mask and gloves was roaming the streets today. She told me she was going to the doctor because she had the flu.
Nah. She didn't. No flu for her.
Because if she had it, she would be too sick to be out running around town showing off her mask.
I never made it to the doctor. The only way I was going to get off of the couch was if someone broke into the house,
slapped me on a gurney, and hauled me unconscious to the ER. I was too sick to move.
I'll take a bout of rabies any day.
darbimae
