Muh muh muh my Flurona

It’s amazing to me how much our collective vocabulary has expanded in the last couple of infectious years. Suddenly we’re tossing around words like “viral load” and “antigen” and “herd immunity.”

And, as Rich Siegel would be the first to tell you, while all of those would make awesome band names, we probably could’ve done without them and just gone on with our average eighth-grade vocabularies the rest of our lives.

But, as I wrote about here, in the not so illustrious advertising tradition of combining two words to make an astonishingly bad third one nobody would ever use even if they had a gun to their head, it seems medical science has jumped on the bandwagon.

We now have a name for the virus you have when you have the bad luck to come down with the seasonal flu and covid-19 at the same time: Flurona.

Two mints in one.

I suppose it’s a catchy (no pun intended) way of identifying what’s ailing ya. It’s also a way to broadcast your monumental bad luck to the world.

And while the odds of contracting both respiratory illnesses simultaneously are small, the risk of hospitalization is considerably greater. Fortunately, you can now get a flurona vaccine, which is exactly what it sounds like. Two vaccines in one shot.

So if you haven’t had your flu shot, and you’re due for a covid booster, just sidle up to the CVS pharmacist/bartender and order yourself a Flurona straight up.

Be careful not to ask for a Shingmonia, Hepatolio or Measbies. Those shots aren’t ready yet.

A no-day work week

Last week was a four-day work week for me. I took a paid day off on Friday because I wanted to catch up on a few things I didn't have time to get to over the holidays.

And because I could.

My timing was impeccable as always. Friday was the day I came down with the flu. This is Wednesday night, and for those of you keeping count, I've been down and out with this misery for six days.

However, in a bold gesture of generosity and consideration for others, I decided not to force the issue and drag myself into work and risk giving this cold/flu-ey thing to everyone who has managed to dodge it so far. It's the kind of thoughtfulness I wish the person who gave it to me had exercised. I'm not naming names, but you know who you are.

Anyway, I'm at the point of being bored and restless out of my mind, yet not well enough to drag myself back into the office yet. Even the dogs are ready for me to be out of the house. I think the coughing is keeping them awake during the day.

So, as if I had any other choice, I'll just ride it out.

And to my colleagues who are the picture of health, working hard, exercising at lunch on the beach and taking the stairs up to the office without having to nap for three hours after, I just have two words for you.

You're welcome.

I can run but I cannot hide

You'd think I'd learn by now, but some lessons you just have to keep learning.

Let's start here. For years I went without a flu shot. The reason wasn't some protest against big pharma, some wildly allergic reaction or an irrational fear of CVS nurses wielding hypodermic needles. The reason was I never got the flu.

That all changed four or five years ago when "Is it cold in here? I have the chills." turned into "Oh my God, I'm dying! Hold that thought I'm going to the bathroom. Again." I came down with the flu from hell. Ever since, I've gotten my annual flu shot right at the start of the season. I don't care if it doesn't protect against all the strains. At least I'm not getting the ones it covers.

But, come to find out, a flu shot isn't a guarantee.

I was feeling pretty good about not having gotten sick, even though people around me at the office were dropping like overworked, underpaid flies. Then a funny thing happened. My throat got sore, my nose got runny and my sleep got sneezy. Still, because I'd taken today as a paid day off, thinking I'd get around to errands I didn't do over the holidays, I refused to entertain the thought I was going down for the count.

My thinking changed this morning when I got full on chills. Started making bathroom runs faster than Carl Lewis. And blew through (pun intended) boxes of tissues with the usual cold symptoms.

The good news, and I hate to jinx it but I'm going to say it anyway, is I haven't had any fever. And, as anyone who knows me will tell you, it'll take more than a few rogue germs to kill my appetite.

The bad news is I'm taking my daughter who's home from college and her friend to brunch at the Magic Castle tomorrow. They took a few planes to get here, and they've been looking forward to this for awhile. Disappointing them is not an option.

So I'll be mixing a little magic potion of my own in the morning, starting with a Coricidin omelette and a DayQuill chaser to get me through the day.

Then, it's back home and to bed until this thing runs its course.

I'm trying to think of a snappy line to end this post. A flu-related joke that'll leave you laughing. Alright, smiling. Okay, not tossing the laptop across the room.

But I got nothing. So instead, I think I'll go back to bed and binge a television show about a meth kingpin named Walter White.

That always makes me feel better.

Lost weekend

It's all a blur.

I wish I could say it was because I spent 48 hrs. in Vegas, non-stop drinking and gambling, maybe taking in a few shows. But sadly, no.

This past weekend was a total loss because that cold, flu-y bug that's been taking no prisoners finally came a knockin' at my door. Well, it came knocking at my wife's door about a week ago, so I knew it was only a matter of time.

Hard to imagine, but I'm not as pleasant a patient as you might think. At the beginning I'm fine—the part where it looks like I can go on with my life and work through it without having to carry around a box of Kleenex. But once we move on to phase two, the sore throat, runny nose, coughing up all colors of the rainbow, sneezing and other sordid bodily adventures, I'm not good about it at all.

I get that no one likes being sick. I just think I hate it more than most people.

All weekend long, I was taking naps in between CNN repeating news about the groper-in-chief's middle east trip and The Aviator playing over and over on HBO.

The other thing I hate is that my normally marginal level of productivity is reduced even more (I know, how would you know), and every little thing seems to take its toll.

Sunday morning, after two days of sweating through a fever and hot weather, I thought a shower was in order, not just for me but as a public service to my family. They all said it would make me feel better. It didn't. While I was in the shower it felt great, and I was tricked into thinking I was refreshed and felt good enough to get a few things done.

Come to find out it was only one thing: make a beeline back to my bed and take another nap.

The older I get, the longer it takes to bounce back from anything: colds, flu, bad movies, the price of sushi. I hate being reminded of that.

But I know that this too will end. Being the considerate individual I am, and the fact I'm still under the weather, I've decided to stay home from work today (you're welcome co-workers) and take care of myself.

Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be back at it: showered, rested and ready to be marginally productive.

Germ of an idea

Whenever I hear "It's the season!" I know whoever said it means the Christmas, Joy To The World, Goodwill Towards All time of year. I'm all for it (except for the Mariah Carey Christmas song Macy's has on a loop).

But the holiday season happens to coincide with another, less popular one—cold and flu season.

If you work in an office like I do—with central air-conditioning you thought was your friend—you know colds and flu shoot through the workplace like wildfire.

It's basically a game of dominoes. Once the first person falls, it's only a matter of time before everyone else does.

You can't help getting sick, but you can help other people from getting sick. It's easy, here's the trick: stay home until you're completely better.

Not a lot better.

Not better than you were.

Not almost better.

All the way better. The way you were before you had any inkling you were coming down with anything. It's only common sense and common courtesy, amiright?

But as we all know, there are people who, in spite of a phlegmy, hacking cough, juicy sneezes, noses running faster than Usain Bolt, fever so high they could fry eggs on their foreheads and fatigue so intense they're asleep standing up, for some reason insist on coming to work.

I suppose they might feel a certain sense of responsibility to the job. Or have an unrelenting work ethic that doesn't allow them to put themselves before the job, which they feel must get done regardless of their current state of affliction.

Both things I know nothing about. Just ask anyone I work with.

I hate it when people do that for two reasons. First, the idea of coming to work in general is one I resist with everything I've got pretty much on a daily basis. Maybe it's because I've been freelance so long, or the fact I appreciate my freedom and want to set my own schedule. Maybe it's because I'm an only child and the world revolves around me (but you already knew that). It could be that I'm just a lazy bastard who'd rather sit on the couch and binge Breaking Bad, again, than earn money to pay my bills and feed my family.

A man can dream can't he?

Anyway, the idea of coming to work when I'm sick wouldn't even occur to me. Besides, hard to imagine as it is, I'm even less productive when I'm sick. And getting back to that common courtesy thought, color me old-fashioned, but I just think it'd be better not to pass along the creeping crud I'm fighting to my fellow workers. They'll remember it come Secret Santa time, which means better re-giftable items for me.

And since no one's giving out medals or raises to people who drag their sorry asses in while they're on their death beds, there's really no percentage in it.

Besides, can you ever get enough daytime television? I think not.

Sorry for the rant, but occasionally you have to knock some sense into people so they do the right thing, like stay home when they're sick, get well, and not infect anyone else along the way because they have. to. get. back. to. work.

I'm not saying this post is directed at anyone in particular, but I'm not saying it isn't. With any luck, maybe they'll read it while they're having a fever delirium in their sick bed.

Or at their desk.

Calling in well

Anyone can call in sick. When you’re fighting muscle aches, nausea, diarrhea and a 101-degree fever it’s a no brainer.

Of course, we’ve all been around those people who drag their sorry selves in no matter what, looking like they just finished auditioning for Contagion II. For some inexplicable reason – perhaps an overdeveloped sense of importance, a crippling fear of being fired if they miss a day, or just to get even with everyone they work with who don’t give them the recognition they deserve, they feel it’s their civic duty to keep working until they drop.

But if you ask anyone who’s ever worked with me, after they stop denying it, they’ll tell you in no uncertain terms that’s never been my problem.

Sniffles? Home for three days. That’s the spirit.

I used to work with this guy at an agency who would occasionally call in well to work. He’d wake up in the morning feeling great, optimistic, ready to take on the world. On those days, he’d call the agency, get someone on the line and say, “I won’t be in today. I feel too damn good to come to work.”

I’m all in favor of the concept.

Some shops give you a couple mental days or personal days off a year. I suppose they think you should use those if you’re going to call in well. I think it’s a matter of expanding the definition of sick. As in, it would make me sick to go into work feeling this good.

Which brings me to another point (assuming I had one in the first place): maybe it’s time to reconsider the name “sick days.” If people are going to start calling in well – as they should – the days allotted should reflect that policy.

Maybe a combination of sick and well, a term that would define and describe the days for exactly what they are. Let’s call them Swell Days™.

Although technically, that could be any day you’re not in the office.

A little bug

My first question is why does a post-it note need a push pin? These are the things you ponder when you're sick and have too much time to think.

Being sick sucks. I started feeling bad Sunday, with the symptoms getting gradually worse. Runny nose, clammy, aching. Classic signs of a cold/flu-y kind of thing coming on.

I thought the timing was interesting, because I was sick for about a week before my last gig started. And I'm starting a new gig next week. History repeating itself.

Monday was the big surprise morning though. I let loose with a vicious sneeze, so hard in fact that I blew a blood vessel and had a nosebleed that looked like the scene of the crime. Or a Dexter audition.

So that was fun.

In the past, I've had to have my nose cauterized for a vessel that wouldn't stop, so I thought maybe that was happening again. But I got to my Ear/Nose/Throat doctor, and he said it didn't have to be done this time.

I haven't had another one - sneeze or nosebleed - since Monday.

So for the last couple days, and for the next couple, it's me, the humidifier and catching up with whatever's on the DVR. And making a brief, exhausting appearance or two at the kids final concerts before they graduate - one to college, one to next year in high school.

I know you've become accustomed to me wrapping up these posts with a snappy little line. And while I hate to disappoint my five readers, I just don't have it in me today. Sure, I know there's a joke somewhere about "nothing to sneeze at..." but I just don't feel up to looking for it right now.

Back to bed.

A shot in the dark

If you know anything about me, and really, shouldn't you know something about me by now, you know that I do loves me a good game of craps every once in awhile.

Well, come to find out that thrill of rolling the bones and not knowing exactly if my number's going to come up apparently extends well beyond Vegas.

In fact, all the way to my doctor's office.

Every flu season, my doctor offers me a flu shot. It's an offer usually met with cynicism and a polite refusal. I rarely get the flu, and the ones I have gotten haven't been that bad.

Until now.

I remember the great flu panics of years past: Swine flu. Avian flu. Hong Kong flu. I also remember everyone in the media getting the message out, telling people to get their flu shots.

This time, I wish I'd listened.

I've just spent ten days down - way down - with the flu. This was no lightweight virus. This was a wicked, ass-kicking, anti-Semetic, vindictive, petty, vengeful flu that was relentless in making me feel as bad as it possibly could for no reason at all.

I'm not sure what its official name is. I call it the Creative Director flu.

Fortunately it didn't come with some of the messier symptoms that can sometimes accompany the flu. It was mostly fever after fever, 24/7 aching from head to toe, and a fatigue that would necessitate three hour naps after a walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.

The good news is I lost my appetite as well as a little weight, and now have a newfound appreciation for mango juice from Trader Joe's.

As a result of this latest bout, I'm now even more of a hand-washing fanatic than before. On the hand-washing scale, I'm way north of my kids and just slightly south of Howard Hughes.

I've learned my lesson. Next year, I'm rolling the dice on the flu shot.

Even if it only lessens the misery, I'll consider that a win.