I am off work. I am lying on my back, noshing my way through BBC Iplayer (am I destroying my college’s broadband?) and precious little else. I have, however, found the strength to update facebook as to my woeful plight. This was the first comment I got:
get yourself some tamilfu and take one dose: the diarrhoea, vomiting and abdominal pains will make you realise how well you felt when all you had was swine flu xxx
The person who sent this is 1) an ex-LGBTsoc committee colleague, 2) the ex-LGBTsoc committee colleague who famously started a mailing-list email with ‘Dear Dykes, Bummers, Trannies And The Greedy’ (as you can imagine, hilarity ensued), 3) one of my favourite people, 4) a recently-qualified doctor, and 5) exactly right. To all those illegally and covertly taking Tamiflu as a preventative: may you choke on your own stupidity, or, preferably the APPALLING side effects which I am now having. Vomiflu is much worse than pigflu, and of the two I would take swine + Anadin every time.
I am managing to have every symptom of swine flu, including those only found in small children – weeping. This is mostly weakness and bad temper on my part, as well a deep reluctance to share my living space (college room, 4 walls, now no doubt a germ emporium) with the hallucinations (HALLUCINATIONS, GUYS) that invade whenever my temperature shoots up. So far, I have woken from sleep +/ feverdream to find a member of the American S.W.A.T., big green balloons, my friend Janette, and potatoes at the end of my bed. Last night I also spent extended periods of time (post vomiflu, pre-embrace of my mercifully en suite toilet) able to smell and taste the exact sensations of a hospital bed I had 13 years ago. I never want to drink lemonade again.
Outside, builders are drilling, whacking and bulldozing away at the earth’s core. This much I know is real, although it does make you feel, on waking, as if you’re on a particularly nasty package holiday. Construction noise, and sun: I’m keeping my curtains open in order to get fresh air 24/7 – yes, I am just a little bit Catherine Earnshaw. I’m also a little bit Monica Gellar, though, and the whole sweat/gunk/scared-to-shower-in-case-die-in-it combination is getting distinctly stale (LIKE ME. ba-doom-boom-tish). Later on I shall brave the skull-tiles combo in order to achieve the clean-self combo. And then I’ll probably watch some more Criminal Minds. Anyone who wants to draw a line connecting my S.W.A.T. hallucination to aforementioned show, I’ll lend you the big red crayon you need. Except you can’t come near me or you’ll die. Woe.
CLAMOROUS VOICE 