Wednesday, March 9, 2016

I don't get the man flu because no one would take care of me

And I don't say that as a knock on Terry. She simply has too much going on in her life to nurse me back to health when I have a cold or something.

So I either choose not to acknowledge when I'm sick, or else I just take care of myself without much help from anyone else. And it's fine. Seriously, I've very rarely in my life been so sick that I couldn't get up and get myself a glass of water or some food or whatever.

If I happen to miss a day or two of work, I inevitably go back too early and delay my recovery.

Why? For one simple reason: I cannot stand being sick. Not from an oh-it-makes-me-feel-so-bad perspective but from an it-makes-me-extremely-angry perspective. I hate, hate, hate being sick. And I'm so anxious to get back to my routine that it probably keeps me from getting better.

Just as Terry doesn't have time to take care of me, I don't have time to be sick. I have stuff to do. Getting the flu is not part of the plan. Therefore, when it does come, it makes me mad because it disrupts my carefully crafted daily schedule.

I simply cannot tolerate being sick, and honestly, I don't like the idea of someone else having to take time out of their day to take care of me. So I avoid sickness  or at least I avoid admitting I'm sick  at all costs.

I realize this doesn't play into stereotypes about men, and that giving others the chance to serve you is actually a good thing to do, especially if they really, really WANT to serve you.

Too bad. Scotty ain't got time for that. That tickle in my throat? It's nothing. Those stomach pains? Just gas. The blood pouring out of my nose? Only a flesh wound.


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