We've Gone Viral!
I'd love to say word of mouth has caused unprecedented interest in my writing, or that a successful viral marketing campaign has spread my literary fame throughout the world (wide web). But no.
The only book in MyFace at the moment is a medical one, and the only interest in viral activity in our household is that of an unhealthy variety. Yes, the plague has descended on the Barleys, or on my wife, Gillian, to be precise. By her reckoning, she has a severe case of influenza or bronchitis or lung cancer or perhaps even bird flu. In layman's terms that translates to a bad cold with a touch of hypochondriasis thrown in for good measure.
Why is it that people react differently to illness? My wife and I are a classic example. When it's me that's struck struck down by germs, viruses, tummy upsets or any other common ailment either caught off total strangers - without any exchange of bodily fluids I hasten to add - or off food that was labelled out of date for a reason, I curl up in a corner and simply say the words, "Go away. Leave me alone."
With Gillian, being ill becomes a major event. It starts with what I call the anticipation stage:
"I think I'm going down with something. My chest feels really tight."
"It's probably your bra."
"No. I'm sure my breathing isn't right."
"Can you breathe in?"
"Yes."
"Can you breathe out?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't worry then."
Next we have the build up:
"It feels like someone's cutting my throat."
"Have you taken anything for it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I was hoping you would make me a hot toddy. Please? I'm not a well person." Cue pouted lips.
"Mmm."
It's not long before we reach the peak of physical unfitness stage.
"(COUGH) Steve?"
Silence.
"(COUGH) Steeve?"
Silence.
"(COUGH) Steeeeve!"
"Yes."
"(COUGH) Are you awake?"
"Yes!"
"(COUGH) What time is it?"
"It's exactly one hundred and twenty two coughs since the last time you asked."
"(COUGH) I can't help it. I just can't clear my throat, (COUGH) and my lungs are hurting. Perhaps a cup of tea would help?"
"The kettle's downstairs."
"(COUGH) Would you make me one?"
"(sigh) Okay."
"(COUGH) And could you fetch me a couple of paracetamol? Oh, and perhaps a piece of toast. I don't like taking tablets on an empty stomach."
And so it continues. My wife's sickness is always genuine, but never seems to prevent her phoning her relatives and friends to cough and splutter down the phone; as she tells them how grey she looks and how miserable she's feeling. When Gillian is ill, she wants the world to know it and she wallows in the buckets of sympathy that are always directed her way.
Conversely, when I was ill one Christmas with full blown flu - you know the sort; where you can barely lift a finger and if you were taken to see a vet you'd be put down - I took to my bed in order to sweat it out alone. How naive was I?
"Steve?" said my wife through the haze of my fever.
"Ungh."
"Steve." I felt a nudge in my side. "Don't forget you've got your boys' Christmas Eve drinks down the pub with my dad and Geoff." Geoff is my brother-in-law.
"Ungh."
Some time later, I was woken from my fetid pit by another nudge.
"Steve."
"Ungh."
"It's 8 o'clock and my dad and Geoff are ready to go. You can't disappoint them. It's traditional that you all go out together on Christmas Eve."
"Ungh."
A short while later.
"Come on lad. Get yourself out of bed. Geoff and I can't go to the pub without you. No son-in-law of mine's going to let a little cold get in the way of a beer. We'll wait for you downstairs."
"Ungh."
One minute later.
"Right. My dad and Geoff have got their coats on. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's time you thought of others for a change!"
Cold air floods over my volcanic body as the duvet is ripped away.
"There. You'll have to get up now."
"Ungh."
"Look. I'm going to drag you out of bed myself if you don't get up."
"Ungh."
"I mean it. One..."
"Ungh."
"Two..."
"Ungh."
"THREE. Urrgghh, you're all sweaty and hot. Oh my God. You really are ill."
You see what I mean? No sympathy at all. My suffering was even compounded on Christmas morning when I mistakenly said I was feeling a little better. Before I knew it, I was wearing an apron and having to cook the Christmas dinner. A meal I never got to sample myself as I was too exhausted to eat and had to retire to bed, but not before I'd been made to serve the cheese and biscuits.
The only sympathy I did receive was half-hearted and after the event. My father-in-law, Eric, caught the flu bug from me and was bedridden when he returned home after Christmas. When he recovered, he phoned to say, "I see what you mean now, son. It knocked me out for a week. You got off lightly, you were only in bed two days."
Two days was all I was allowed. While the rest of my family get to revel in their suffering, I'm always ill under sufferance. I can only hope my wife's current ailment remains on her side of the family.
(COUGH)...
...oh dear, excuse me while I fetch another lemsip.
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