The Flu

Thank God for toilets.

And, no, I can't actually thank Thomas Crapper for the toilet because it appears he may not have invented the wonderful device, afterall.

It all started on Christmas day when David and I headed over to my nephew Drew's and his wife Shelley's beautiful new home. All the Denver nephews and nieces and great nephews and nieces as well as grandma and grandpa were there. David and I hadn't been there but maybe five minutes when it was announced by my nephew Pat's wife, Sarah, that they all -- she spread her arms in the air enveloping the entire family -- had been sick with the flu and were just now getting over it and, boy oh boy, the headache was the worst.

"Okay, we're outa' here," I said to David, jokingly, but knowing, really knowing that I would get it; I would share the misery of my family's recent affliction. It was just in the stars.

Two a.m. Monday morning I wake up with a dizzyingly intense throb right above my eyes; the kind of ache that whispers you might as well just go throw-up now, 'cause if you don't do it now, you're gonna be gettin' up later to do it. I didn't get up and I didn't throw-up. I think all the stomach and digestion related medications I take daily probably saved my ass -- ah, wrong word in this context -- saved my stomach from reversing course and well, you know...

So, I get up Monday morning with the Muther of all headaches, nauseous and rumbling in my intestines that we've all experienced and have come to understand will, without a doubt, evolve into something a little more sinister; a little more ... potent. And, indeed, it did. And, every bone and muscle in my body throbbed with the intensity of a fifteen-year-old's orgasm. (That's a good throb, though. Can't think of an appropriate bad throb right now. Give me a break. I've got the flu.)

Thank God for toilets.

I asked Shelley how long this little menace lasted for them all and she advised, "It hits hard. A good four or five days."

I'm into day three.

I haven't run since Sunday. But, after my visitation to the throne early each morning -- and before the next spasm occurs -- I've still loaded Melissa up into the Explorer and we've still made it to the park and circled the lake ... a brisk walk which passes several portable toilets situated around the lake's edge. It is small comfort the portable toilets are there. I mean, have you ever utilized a public, portable toilet? Ugh!

There was a great view of Mount Evans from the lake this morning that I really, really wanted to get a shot of. But, alas, those little rumblings in the lower abdomen suggested that Melissa and I had best be on our way.

I hope this is the flu. I didn't get a flu shot this year. I probably could have. I'm over fifty and do have asthma. But, with the shortage of vaccine and all (way to go Homeland Security!) I opted not to pursue it.

Why anyone would be interested in this post is beyond me.

But, it's occasionally fun to just post something quite inane which, in the great scheme, the great purpose of bloggerspace probably means absolutely nothing.

P.S. If you've got the flu, believe me, day three is the turning point. I do feel better.