I Had a Cold. Nothing About My Independence Changed.

A few weeks ago my nephew came down with a cold, and four days later, so did I. Snot, congestion, a cough that stuck around a beat longer than the rest of it. Nothing dramatic. The kind of thing most people would call “a mild one” and forget about within a week.

It happened to land during a week my massage therapist was already on vacation, so I had nothing on the calendar I needed to cancel. It started Sunday afternoon and I was back to normal by Thursday. My own theory, for whatever it’s worth: I drink about ninety ounces of water a day, on purpose, and I think that’s a big part of why nothing ever really sticks to me for long. I slept in every day, and I skipped my standing frame that week, because rest seemed like a good idea.

I didn’t feel good, and I took everything slower, but I was never stuck in bed. Once I’m up and in the chair, a cold doesn’t stop me. I can blow my own nose. I can ask whoever’s around for whatever over-the-counter medication I want. The list of things I need another person’s hands for doesn’t get one item longer just because I’m congested.

Somebody already gets me out of bed every single morning, cold or not. Somebody already helps me get dressed, cold or not. My health doesn’t decide what I do every day, even on a bad day.

I worked that whole week, just at a slower pace. Calls, messages, the same work I do every other week. I didn’t think to mention I was sick, not because I was being tough about it, but because it wasn’t worth reporting. My nephew knew, since he’s the one who gave it to me. Nobody I worked with that week did, because there was nothing about the week that would have told them.

When people hear how I live, they tend to say that must be really hard. I shrug and say I just work here. I’ve got stuff to do every week, and being sick doesn’t change that any more than it would for the average person.