Diary of a Sick Person

Saturday Night

The Imaginary Me
The Imaginary Me
Hmmm. I feel like I might be coming down with something, as in kind of yucky, if you know what I mean.

I dare any sickness to invade my body! I laugh at illness! I have traveled over half the world! I have faced real audiences in real theaters, singing opera, of all things! A little bug? Let it come! I’ll show it what I can do!

Early Sunday Morning

“Uh, Father, this is Kathy, your singer. I don’t think I can come to Mass this morning. I’m sick. … Yes … I know, and I don’t sound nearly as bad as I feel. … Thanks, Father. I’ll see you next week.”

The Rest of Sunday

Yep.  That's me, alright.
Yep. That’s me, alright.
Man, this sucks. Whatever happened to the brave woman who faced audiences and airports and audition panels with bravado? She’s somewhere inside my clogged-up head, hiding.

Well, in that case, there’s nothing I can do. I think I’ll spend the rest of the day sleeping or watching TV.

Where’s the remote? All the way on the other side of the room. Forget it. I’ll just sleep for now and save the TV for later.


Oh shit. This isn’t going away. If anything, I feel worse than yesterday. I’m going to have to let my boss know I can’t come in today and why. Fortunately, I have a doctor’s appointment later today, and my doctor is only two blocks away.

My doctor assures me I don’t have anything life threatening, no matter how bad I feel. I just have a really awful cold. Since it’s a virus, antibiotics won’t help. It has to run its course.

I go the two blocks home, secure in the knowledge that all I can do is to swill a lot of liquids, eat some soup, swallow decongestants, sleep a lot and wait for the germs to die the slow, painful death they deserve.

I have a reasonably good time watching TV while sitting in my favorite armchair.


I feel well enough to go to work today. It is a normal workday, or it would be if I were not alternating between feeling reasonably okay and reasonably awful. I eat some fancy chickpea soup for lunch, because the only other choice that the little café on campus is offering is Italian wedding soup. I hate Italian wedding soup.

I am determined to be in tomorrow, and really think I will be able to make it.


I wake up feeling like all the mucus in the world is holding a convention in my head and throat. My body feels like it is waiting for a chance to fall apart. This thing has turned into the Mutant Monster Malady of all time. It’s the Ninja King of colds. Viruses from all over are lining up, waiting to get into my cells.

I had to sleep last night sitting up in my favorite armchair with my feet resting on an ottoman. That was the only way I could breathe.

Going in to work is impossible when it takes forethought and planning to get up and walk to the bathroom. I had to call in sick again.

The chair is a man-eater, and the TV remote control is nearby. There’s a marathon of “Law and Order” on the Lifetime Channel. That’s all I need to stay entertained. When you’re sick, you’re not particular.

My Live-In Nurse
My Live-In Nurse
My cat, Harmony, attempts to nurse me to health by jumping up on me, kneading me with her front paws, and lying down on top of me. She isn’t normally inclined to nurturing type behavior, so I take that as a sign that she loves me.

Thursday Morning and Afternoon

A repeat of yesterday, with different TV shows.

Thursday Evening

Something starts to break.

For the first time in a couple of days, I have enough energy to get up and play on the computer.

I am sweating like a horse, which I have always been told is a good sign that your body is trying to throw off a disease. I believe it. Something that gives that much hope can’t be an old wives tale.

I can finally sleep in the bed again. If you don’t think that’s a big deal, try sleeping in a chair for two nights and see how you like it.

But there’s the coughing, which is becoming worse. There’s also an occasional bout of not being able to breathe until I cough my lungs out. Other than that, things are progressing.


I’m still not well enough to go to work, but at least I can walk around the apartment. You don’t realize how much fun that can be until you’ve been stuck in a chair for a couple of days.

My apartment looks like what it has been all week: a sickroom. So much for housecleaning.

My friend from down the hall, who has had the exact same miserable bug all week, too, came to visit. We had a good visit. I offered her some bottled water from my fridge, and made sure I gave her a cup that I have not used for a long time. My germs are miserable little bastards, but they’re MY germs. She already has her own.

This disease is getting old really fast. I will it to die of old age, as soon as possible.

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7 thoughts on “Diary of a Sick Person”

  1. You have a live in Ottoman? How do you afford him on your salary. How does he feel about holding up your swollen feet all night?

    1. Thanks! This thing is going around. Two of my friends who live in different parts of the city and don’t even know each other also came down with it. One of them had it for a month!

      This particular cold sneaks up on you, deceives you into thinking you’re getting better, then slams you with the full effect.

      It makes a good funny story, though!

    1. She’s a true original. If I had pictures of everything she does, I could have the whole world laughing their heads off.

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