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My Personal Account Of My Flu-Cold Hybrid That Is Plaguing My Existence

When you're the CEO of your own company, there are a lot of perks. You can take days off whenever you want to. But you know what else? When you're the CEO of the company, and work needs to get done, you have to work. This often comes at times when you'd rather be out with friends getting your wine on, or visiting your sister's new baby, or sleeping off the cold that is running ragged through your body. That was me today. Sick ass CEO, home with a nasty flu-cold hybrid that had been plaguing me for two days already and didn't appear to be shying away just yet.

0800: Wake up to my sweet, patient boyfriend standing over me with a cup of coffee who probably hadn't slept much the night before as I had woken up every hour or two to blow my nose, cough up a lung, shiver excessively and reposition to find the driest spot in my sopping wet sheets. We pulled the comforter back to reveal my body, covered in beads in sweat. Forehead. Knee joints. Belly button.


The good news: sweating means the flu is getting better right?

0830: Incoming video call with my assistant. Yes, I'm still naked in bed. I've since turned on a fan to dry off and, only because he offered, have switched over to my boyfriend's dry side of the bed. Enjoying an "I'm freezing" phase. My throat is sore and we have no lozenges. I reach for the bear-shaped honey bottle next to my bed (no I don't always keep it there... but there has been a lot of tea) and take a shot of it, right to the back of my throat. Classy like that. We review the plan for the day, starting by determining I am far too sick to get myself to the airport and fly in for the scheduled interviews for the day. New plan: Skype. Emails sent to interviewees and then, I'm officially exhausted again. It's time for a nap.

1000: Two episodes of Friends down (of the 43 I've watched in the last three days), and I'm finally ready to crash.

1130: Wakes up from a beautiful, deep nap, to hit the snooze button. Just not ready to face the day, yet. Nope.

1200: Okay fine. Interviews are in half hour. Time to get out of bed. Wow. I'm just realizing now it's been over three days since I've worn makeup! My poor, poor, live-in boyfriend. This can't be pretty for him. Virtual call with assistant to review the interview questions. I'm of course, freezing, and don't think being wrapped in a blanket looks professional, so I throw on a sweater and oversized grey sweatpants that are big enough to fit a 300-lb man. Quickly turn the kettle on. I'm dying for some tea. (The amount of tea I've had in the last three days is obscene.) Aaaaaand cue interview one.

1300: Interview one complete. I now have fifteen minutes until the next one. I quickly realize I'm starving. No wonder! I haven't eaten a thing today. Jesus. I pull out some leftover short rib and mashed potatoes that my byofriend brought home for me last night from his dinner meeting at my favorite restaurant. I shovel some into my mouth. GASP. I CAN'T TASTE A THING. This is literally my least favorite part of getting sick. This is one of my senses and I like to be able to taste. I feel completely robbed when this is taken away. It's not cool. At all.

A few tasteless bites is more than enough to get me through to the next interview. Who ever cares about food if you can't taste? Gah.

1315: Interview two starts.

1345: Interview two completes. I hit the end button and tear my black wool sweater off of me and pull down my oversized sweatpants. Hot flash. I'm dripping. Oh god... did the interviewee notice? I am SO HOT. Must walk around the room and dry off.

1600: I've been sitting at my desk, pushing through email after after, taking calls, crossing things off my daunting to-do list (which really isn't that daunting on a good day but today, seems nearly impossible). Every 45 minutes or so I have a panicked hot flash where I have to tear off my shirt again. My poor virtual assistant has now seen me in my bra as well (good thing we're also friends and she doesn't mind... I should really get her to sign something though--just in case). Then after five minutes of cooling off, I'm FREEZING. This is mental.

1630: Time to call it a day. I cannot fathom doing anymore work today. And I'm mostly done. Horray me! Perfect time to watch a few more episodes of Friends from the bathtub.

Yes, TV in the bath. New favorite thing.

1800: My boyfriend comes home. He's forgotten throat lozenges but he's making pork chops. It's okay though, he's running out to get some for me. Crisis averted. I suddenly realize I haven't left the house in 3.5 days. Whoa.

I don't even care.

1900: The pork is great. Well, the texture is anyway. I taste nothing. He's such a great cook--what a waste! Alas, I will feast on throat lozenges instead. Whoa is me.

We start watching House. From the beginning. I need a break from Ross & Rachel, I've started dreaming about them. Contemplating their computability in my dreams. Legit. That's a bit much.

Regardless, Netflix is saving my life during this illness. I will be forever grateful.

1915: I am cuddled up on the couch in my boyfriend's housecoat (note to self: wash this once I'm better) and BAM--hot flash. I stand up and strip that and blanket off me and stand naked in the living room, sipping my Kamboocha. My boyfriend I'm sure is starting to wonder about my sanity. Especially when five minutes later, I start shivering and cuddle back up and sit down.

2030: It's officially a respectable time to go to bed. My head is going to explode. I've watched this illness tear through my body. Now it's all in my face. My sinuses. They're going to explode. Headache. Pressure. Running nose. The whole nine yards, times 1000. I start to wonder if I'm dying. I've just seen a patient on episode 3 of House where he had cold like symptoms and took cold medicine... and alas, it was something else! He was dying. I started to wonder... maybe I should be diagnosed. Why wasn't my boyfriend looking into this for me? Why aren't we running a differential analysis on me? Does he even care about me at all? I'm likely going to waste away here popping Tylenol and cough drops.


2100: Okay. I'm crazy. Time for bed. At least my sheets have dried.

Oh crap, another hot flash. Bye bye house coat...



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