Home Sick

I woke up this morning to what felt like several large knives being raked down the back of my throat. This isn’t exactly atypical, as sore throats have become my body’s “real” illness of choice lately. Among other recent throat issues, including throat collapse, I’ve had real strep throat twice over the past year. (If you’ve never had strep throat, you have no appreciation for the suffering I’ve experienced; it’s the equivalent of a childless woman trying to understand the pains of labor. If you have had a child, or in this case, strep throat, you know the powers that be are against me). And needless to say, I’m touchy about my throat.

My first case of strep started with swollen lymph nodes after exposure to a particularly nasty co-worker, a co-worker who’d never heard of a shower or washing machine. I immediately went to the doctor. Begged for antibiotics. And after being denied, emerged three days later with large cauliflower growths on my tonsils. When I finally returned to work, ten pounds and one week of vacation lighter, WTP informed me that she’d “had strep throat at least 60 times in her life,” but of course, was positive she hadn’t given it to me.

So that’s my premise for staying home, (1) I don’t want to be responsible for getting my co-workers sick (lie); and (2) I need to baby my throat with Throat Coat and wine so as not to develop another case of strep.

I think I feel the guilt setting in.