Well, we are getting closer to our time to return to Ukraine, the kids are getting close to the end of the semester, etc. So I (Mark) decided this week to carve out a space in my schedule to get the flu. Now I feel like I have already paid my dues on this thing back in January. So I felt pretty honored in the middle of Sunday night to wake up to chills, high fever, and aches like I have not experienced in my memory. And that dynamic trio has made themselves at home to this day (Thursday). Thankfully, the cookies have stayed in the jar, if you know what I mean, but I have felt really hungry and not able to eat anything, often at the same time.
So I decided to go to the doctor to find out what was going on. As bad as I felt, I was hoping for something exotic, like Lower Slobovian Panther Plague. The doctor would call my house, an ambulance, the CDC and the press. A panel of doctors would shuffle papers at a long table as they prepared for a press conference. In response to worried questions, they would say, “We feel like what strikes us most is Mark’s tremendous courage.” They would ask if the horrible symptoms show any sign of abating. The chief physician would say, “Last night sitting at the table he did a full facial flop into his potato soup. We all feel like this shows significant progress!”
However, this morning, the doctor called and said that he didn’t see anything remarkable. My white cells looked normal, and my […insert technical Star Trek jargon that I didn’t recognize…] are all in range. He said, “I think you’ve got the flu.” However, I was somewhat encouraged to hear that when he looked under the microscope at the actual flu virus cells in my blood, they were a rough looking group indeed. Some of them had tattoos and scars, and one even had a T-shirt with the very offensive message written on it: “Go do uncomfortable things to yourself!”
Needless to say, I felt somewhat vindicated. I’ll be going to this doctor again if I get sick. I’m going to go back and lay down now. Keep us in your prayers.