Step one: contract the bug. Interact with sick people, play with their toys, etc., if you're lucky, this is the easiest step.
Step two: be innocent and oblivious for approximately 28 hours.
Step three: treat the toilet as your best friend--if you make it in time. It's strange how relieving it is to know you don't have to clean up any messes if your face is three inches deep in the last place you want it to be.
(Repeat step three for approximately 3-4 more times, almost once every resulting hour.)
Step four: Grovel and feel parched on the couch for several hours.
Step five: finally attempt to take that drink that you've been licking your dry lips for--make the mistake of drinking way too much at first.
(Repeat step three.)
Step six: Tentatively try sipping some electrolyte-infused drink.
Step seven: Write e-mails to all the professors you won't be meeting for the first time because of your flu. Get replies saying "too bad. Hope you can get caught up."
Step eight: Take a nice long warm bath to ease your aching muscles and bones. Doze off. Several times.
Step nine: Sit by the fire as you attempt to eat more solid food, like yogurt. It should be about fifteen hours since you first became best friends with the toilet.
Step ten: Be surprised a whole thing of yogurt is staying down, as well as a bottle of vitamin water. Finally take that ibuprofen on that "full" stomach.
Step eleven: Finally get that glass of ice water you've been craving since ten in the morning. Enjoy crunching the ice and letting the water trickle down your throat.
Step twelve: Realize quick movements are still taxing, especially to the head, which has gained about 20 lbs. It certainly feels like one of those dreams where you can't open your eyes.
Step thirteen: Blog about it to people who really don't want to read about this.
Step fourteen: Take a shower, get all cleaned up, and be prepared to go to school the next day.
Step fifteen: Go to bed by 8:30 pm. And pray for luck.
Notes: Thank you dad for coming to my rescue. I really really hope you don't get it in the next couple of days, with me and mom coming down with it. (That's right, Mom! Who never gets sick!)
I honestly don't know how kids who get sick like this can still run around and play. I was on the couch, the bed, the chair, and the floor for most of the day. Maybe it's because they have less mass to tote around?
Step two: be innocent and oblivious for approximately 28 hours.
Step three: treat the toilet as your best friend--if you make it in time. It's strange how relieving it is to know you don't have to clean up any messes if your face is three inches deep in the last place you want it to be.
(Repeat step three for approximately 3-4 more times, almost once every resulting hour.)
Step four: Grovel and feel parched on the couch for several hours.
Step five: finally attempt to take that drink that you've been licking your dry lips for--make the mistake of drinking way too much at first.
(Repeat step three.)
Step six: Tentatively try sipping some electrolyte-infused drink.
Step seven: Write e-mails to all the professors you won't be meeting for the first time because of your flu. Get replies saying "too bad. Hope you can get caught up."
Step eight: Take a nice long warm bath to ease your aching muscles and bones. Doze off. Several times.
Step nine: Sit by the fire as you attempt to eat more solid food, like yogurt. It should be about fifteen hours since you first became best friends with the toilet.
Step ten: Be surprised a whole thing of yogurt is staying down, as well as a bottle of vitamin water. Finally take that ibuprofen on that "full" stomach.
Step eleven: Finally get that glass of ice water you've been craving since ten in the morning. Enjoy crunching the ice and letting the water trickle down your throat.
Step twelve: Realize quick movements are still taxing, especially to the head, which has gained about 20 lbs. It certainly feels like one of those dreams where you can't open your eyes.
Step thirteen: Blog about it to people who really don't want to read about this.
Step fourteen: Take a shower, get all cleaned up, and be prepared to go to school the next day.
Step fifteen: Go to bed by 8:30 pm. And pray for luck.
Notes: Thank you dad for coming to my rescue. I really really hope you don't get it in the next couple of days, with me and mom coming down with it. (That's right, Mom! Who never gets sick!)
I honestly don't know how kids who get sick like this can still run around and play. I was on the couch, the bed, the chair, and the floor for most of the day. Maybe it's because they have less mass to tote around?
