I am simply no good at being sick

I don't know what the AI Blog Post Image Generator
did to this guy's right eye...

Last month I was sidelined for close to a week with some sort of bug. Not sure if it was bacterial or viral or what, but I generally felt crummy, spent a few days with heavy congestion, coughed a lot near the end of it, and passed my days sitting around gaining weight and being bored.

And that, you see, was the problem. Whereas many people I know would welcome the excuse to take it easy and watch TV, I can't stand it. I am the world's worst relaxer. I much prefer to be on the go, getting stuff done and being active.

My patience wears thin very quickly on those occasions when I come down with something. After a day or two I end up annoyed that I'm still sick. Which I realize is unrealistic, BUT I HAVE NO TIME TO BE SICK.

I don't become sterotypically pathetic and whiny like a lot of men do when they get sick. I become angry and whiny. Why is this happening to me? Why?? Why now?? This cold or flu or whatever it is needs to go away RIGHT NOW.

But of course it never goes away until it chooses to go away. Which is usually days later than I would have preferred.

Last month's sickness (again, whatever it was) spanned a weekend, and I spent that Saturday on the couch with Cheddar the cat on my lap watching "Forrest Gump," "Apollo 13," a few episodes of "Law and Order: SVU," and portions of the Army-Navy football game.

Sounds like a nice day, right?

I hated it. Hated almost every minute of it. I was antsy the whole time, but I couldn't deny that I felt much better staying on the couch than I would have if I had gotten up and tried to do household chores or whatever.

The previous evening I had served as the PA announcer at our local high school for a girls basketball game, which in retrospect was not smart. My voice was cracking from the start, and by the end of the game it had devolved into a barely discernable rasp.

I should have called off.

But calling off would have meant acknowledging that I was sick, and I didn't want to be sick, so I simply ignored reality and risked passing my nasty germs on to others in attendance.

Which was selfish and dumb.

Here's the thing: One day I will die, and so will you. As Sally Field says in "Forrest Gump," death is just a part of life. When it happens, I pray it will be quick and easy, because I lack the mental fortitude to lay in a hospital bed declining for weeks or months on end.

It's more likely I will die in our bathroom, having just cleaned the sink and toilet.

But at least I'll die happy.

Sometimes the kids come home when they're sick and it's just like the old days

It should be noted that my sick daughter looked far better than this virtual woman cooked up by the AI Blog Post Image Generator.

Last month my daughter Melanie woke up with a 103-degree fever, chills and a generally rotten sick feeling. She texted Terry, who went and picked her up and took her to the urgent care.

After being diagnosed with an unknown virus, Mel came to our house and spent the rest of the day (and night, and much of the next two days) on our couch.

Terry waited on her and made her feel as comfortable as possible. I felt so bad for Mel, but I'll admit it was nice having her around.

I was working from home, and at one point in the afternoon I came downstairs from my office to find both Melanie and Terry fast asleep on the couch. The last time that happened was probably 2001 when Mel was a baby and an exhausted Terry would nurse her there.

It was a very sweet and nostalgic scene.

You want your kids to grow up and move out and be independent, but you inevitably miss them when they do.

So these little visits – even if they result from less-than-ideal circumstances – are kind of nice.

And the best part? Mel got better, and the only person who caught whatever she had was me. (Well, Terry eventually got sick and blamed me, so maybe this wasn't "the best part" for her.)

A win-win for Jack, at least.

I recently had my second bout with Covid...still zero stars, do not recommend

Terry and I both contracted Covid back in January 2021 and were down and out for a solid week. I was kind of hoping that would be my one and only experience with it.

But the virus was nice enough to mutate and hit me again last month. And once again, it took a solid week (and then some) for me to come back. This time, for good measure, I also experienced the loss of taste and smell I had somehow avoided with the first go-round.

Everyone who gets Covid seems to have somewhat different experiences. For me, both times it has been a combination of a nasty head cold with flu-like symptoms that have included fever/chills and a general feeling of extreme "blah," if you know what I mean.

Sickness of any type tries my patience. I simply don't have time for illness, which is why, by day #3 of Covid the Sequel, I was antsy and annoyed. I had work to do. I was missing PA announcing gigs and the income that goes with them. I got tired just cleaning a single toilet, let alone an entire bathroom.

When I get sick, I don't become self-pitying so much as bitter and angry. I HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS.

Speaking of PA announcing, the previous weekend's assignments are likely where I picked up this latest round of Covid. That Friday I had announced a Wickliffe football game, and the next day I did both college volleyball at Cleveland State University and a band festival in the nearby town of Solon.

At some point during one of those events, some attendee unknowingly shared the virus with me. I'm all for sharing, but you can keep this particular gift to yourself, Patient Zero.

I will go way out on a limb to give you this expert medical opinion: Covid sucks. Do not get it.

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.

I AM NOT SICK, DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM NOT SICK!