Mar. 16, 2006 – Originally published by CNC, Inc.

Phases Of The Flu

This column is coming to you directly from my bed, where I have been stuck for the past five days due to a nasty flu virus I contracted somewhere. I should have remembered, though, just when you say optimistically to someone, "It’s funny, we haven’t been sick all season!" you might as well just go home in your business suit and get under the covers - you brought it on yourself by daring to be so hopeful. One thing this column should tell you - how devoted a columnist is, to do their work even when dealing with a high fever - (the downside being, of course, you can’t believe a thing you read here this week.)

There are a few different phases to dealing with the flu when it comes to family dynamics - the first I like to think of as kind of a "honeymoon" phase, when the flu highlights how important the stricken person is to everyone else, and how much that person does. Your sweetheart looks vulnerable lying there pale and shivering under the covers babbling away to the bedroom walls about prom night 1978 as you try to pump cold medicine in to them (they will then babble for a few hours about how hard the NyQuil is making their heart beat - you might want to listen to this one!).

The second phase of the flu is what we will term the "nitty-gritty" phase - the flu begins to test the family. On Day 2 of my flu, I yelled weakly out to my husband as he walked by with a load of laundry, "Honey? Can you come in here for a minute? I have a craving for something." I burrowed deeper under the covers, head pounding. He popped his head in. "Craving? You’re not pregnant, you are sick! I’m bringing you soup." He departed - no restorative, vitamin-filled Kit Kats were in my future.

In the nitty-gritty phase, I also lost my voice somewhat; at first I sounded like Demi Moore, which was kind of nice, and gets you more coke with lots of ice cubes, but it morphed into a kind of Bea Arthur thing which startled well-wishers and reminded my husband of the cult classic, "The Omen." During the nitty-gritty phase things started happening to the house, too - or should I say, not happening to the house - it was beginning to go way downhill. I staggered downstairs once while left alone for a few hours (I’m being nice here, they left me alone for about eight hours) and looked around, puzzled. Had we had a party? A play-group? An air-raid? I shrugged and slumped back upstairs - there wasn’t gonna be no Kit Kats found in that mess.

The third phase of the flu, I think of as the trickiest phase, for both the patient and the caregivers (teenagers, by the way, care for you with the cutting-edge, AMA-approved technique of asking for money). This third phase we shall call the "vow-testing" phase, because the whole "in sickness and in health" thing is eventually quoted in a huff by the patient. This phase is the trickiest because you are not well yet, but you are better. And no one likes to see that. As my husband walked up wearily with my grilled cheese and soup, I stretched out luxuriously on the bed, fluffing out my just-washed hair and smiling gratefully. "I’ve been watching this infomercial, and I think we ought to buy some property in Wyoming, just to get some investments going," I croaked in my Bea Arthur voice, taking a bite of my sandwich. My husband’s exhausted eyes narrowed; he wasn’t really appreciating my "dreamer’s phase" of the flu. "You don’t say," he mumbled, stooping to pick up my towel and old nightclothes (okay, beach cover-up and beige tights; you’ll wear anything in the first two phases of the flu.) "Umm" he continued, "can you do me a favor and stop watching infommercials? Aren’t you feeling better yet - are you wearing lipgloss?" He really didn’t appreciate it either when he was trying to wash the dishes and ol’ Bea from upstairs croaked down, "Hon, I can’t find the phone and I want to vote for Mandisa on "American Idols." Can you call 1-866-IDOLS-07 a few times for me, or text the word "VOTE" to 5707? Thanks!"