Stage 1 – Denial:
Hrm… my throat hurts a little bit. It’s probably just from the dry air, though. Or maybe I was snoring extra aggressively last night. Also I’m feeling kind of achey, but I’m sure that’s from working out. It’s definitely not because I’m getting sick. I haven’t been sick in forever. I exercise and eat sort of healthy and shit. And my kids aren’t tiny germ factories who go around relating to the world by tasting it anymore. Plus I definitely drink enough wine to kill all the germs that could have potentially gotten near my body. I don’t fit the profile for a person who gets sick. I’m absolutely, without a doubt, unsick.
Stage 2 – Anger:
OK, now… WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT? Now I have chills? Chills, body aches, sore throat, fever… FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK!! I bet this is Jason’s fault, he was sort of sick last week. Goddamn it. Why is he so selfish with his getting sick and bringing it home?! Or maybe it was that stupid, hippie Acro-yoga class I took! That was totally it. There was all that touching of strangers and I didn’t even use any hand sanitizer before I got home! One of those weirdos totally gave me the plague. How sharing of them. Motherfucker.
Stage 3 – Bargaining:
I really do not have time for this sickness. It just won’t fit into my life right now. How about if I’m not sick right now and we talk about it in a couple of weeks? I could maybe schedule it in early March? No? OK, but if I have to be sick, I’m gonna need the kids not to get it. Universe, are you listening to me? I’ll take one for the team this time, but having them home from school and miserable too, is just going to kill my productivity for the entire month. Please??
At the very least can I lose three pounds? I just need to get something out of this.
Stage 4 – Depression:
Everything hurts. It hurts to stand up, it hurts to sit down. It hurts to open the can of refried beans I’m going to make my kids eat for dinner directly from the can with a spoon. It hurts to shiver, which I am, even though I have on long-sleeves, pants, socks and 3 blankets. It hurts to have to pee. It hurts to look in the mirror when I eventually get up to go pee, although this is more of the existential pain that greasy hair, disheveled clothing and a make-up-free face brings on. I’m probably going to die like this. Miserable, hideous, pathetic. Oh sweet blackness of death, I welcome your warm embrace.
Stage 5 – Acceptance:
Me: Jason, I need you to get me some of that Aleve 12-hour cold and flu stuff.
Jason: Really? That bad?
Me: Yep. I give up. I’d rather be moderately stoned for 12-hours straight than feel like this any longer.
Jason: That is some good shit.