Double Vision with Charlie Adley
Holy bloated bedbugs, Batman! I’m not under the duvet, I’m slammed against the mattress. Thankfully it has been ages since the flu and I met up, so I’d forgotten how crushing this feeling is. Unable to sleep for the last 48 hours, I’m dazed, incoherent and immobile. This bastard bug has me floored me, damaging my body from top to bottom. My head hurts, but you’d expect that. My toes are cramping weirdly. I’ve a rash breaking out over half of my body and a pain in my gut like I was stabbed with a stilletto.
My teeth are jangling and aching and in my middle, even my bloomin’ dangly boy-bit baubles are – Ouch! Ohh! – tender and sore.
Stay warm, they say. Keep an even temperature and drink fluids all the time, they say. You have to flush your kidneys, to rid yourself of all the toxins, they say, which is all well and good, but these morsels of advice don’t go well together.
I’m drinking water by the gallon, but as a result I need to go to the loo every half an hour, which means leaving the warm cosy environment of my sick bed and venturing a full five yards to the loo. Trouble is, on the way I go through a temperature change that brings out of me explosive sneezing fits.
I can’t help the fact that, at the best of times, I sneeze very loudly, and with the backing of this virus it now sounds like I’ve smuggled several tiny piglets into the bathroom, where I’m asphyxiating them in a most horrendous way.
In fact the only laugh I’ve had out of this illness so far was when the Snapper told me that one of my sneezes, amplified by the echoey bathroom walls, gave Lady Dog such a shock she fell off the sofa.
As the fever first hit, Storm Eleanor was raging outside, offering a hellish and apt soundtrack to my suffering. However, despite all my whingeing, I’ve not had it as bad as herself.
To read Charlie in full, please see this week’s Galway City Tribune.