It Sucks Being Sick...

Mrs. Overlord is still on the mend, hospitalized with pneumonia, but is slowly getting better. In the meantime, I have gotten ill...

Which brings us to some questions about Modern Medicine.

Mrs. Overlord, it should be noted, has had both her flu shot and a pneumococcal pneumonia shot and managed to get both, anyway. The efficacy of both of this year's vaccines has recently been called into question. When one walks into a hospital and discovers that the hallways are three-gurneys deep with respiratory illnesses, the questions can't be asked enough.

I am not versed in the methods of flu and pneumonia prevention and will leave the answers to those questions to those with more expertise, but I will note that I never get a yearly flu shot and until the last two months hadn't experienced the flu for over 30 years. I've now had it twice in the last two months.

The first time was over the holidays, which is most likely how Mrs. Overlord got it.

The second began after walking into ta hospital overflowing with respiratory cases every day for the better part of two weeks, despite washing my hands every four seconds and undertaking a prevention regime that may very well see my blood type change from "O" to "Purell" by the time this is all over.

Last Friday, I began coughing up a lung despite having worn gloves, gowns and surgical masks while spending 10-14 hours a day by Mrs. Overlord's bedside, until a nurse told me I had to go. Like leave the hospital. There was a great danger to everyone involved if I'm sick and sitting around the place spreading more germs.

So, yesterday, I went to see a doctor at a local urgent care center. A tiny Chinese man who looks like he fell off a charm bracelet. He examined me, and then announced:

You have the fru.

Yes, I know I have the fru. Can you give me anything for it?

You no need.

Which means I will be seeing Mrs. Overlord's doctor on Monday morning for a second opinion, because God forbid she gave me pneumonia.

In the meantime, I'm living on a steady diet of Nyquil and Robitussin, which seems to be working just fine, and alternating between bouts of severe chills and hot flashes with sweats, and sometimes, both, simultaneously. I feel like I've done 15 rounds with a rhino. But at least I'm not dizzy, anymore.

In the meantime, the hospital, in an effort to alleviate Mrs. Overlord's anxiety about the bi-pap therapy she must be subjected to, has given her Atavan (when, really, I'm the one who needs it) so that she is now mostly high...and in possession of a cell phone.

She needs the drug to cope because

You...don't...understand...that...thing..is...on...MY...FACE!

It's only on your face, My Love, because it wouldn't work if they shoved it up your ass.

For all the love I bear Mrs. Overlord, I must say that she's a big fucking baby, especially when she's sick. She is easily panicked, requires the sort of attention one typically reserves for an infant, and seems to believe that what should happen is that the planets should stop rotating in their orbits, the fish should stop swimming in the oceans, and democrats should stop handing out welfare, so that the attention of the entire Solar System is fixed directly on her.

I don't need to be in a hospital room with her for 12 hours a day; she wants me there to fuss over her.

I don't need to risk my own health in order to make sure her's is recovered; she wants me there to hold her hand and reassure her that everything is going to be alright. Every eight seconds.

Except that the more attention she gets in this regard, the more she wants. If she doesn't get it she starts doing stupid shit, like interfering with her own therapy in order to get more attention. She's done this twice, already, both times when they were ready to send her home, too.

Hence, why I need Atavan.

If only they could cure this problem (being a vain and emotionally needy female), too.

But gender-reassignment surgery is not normally indicated as a treatment for pneumonia.

Because you just KNOW a man would never whine like this.