Uncommon Valour

I hate the common cold. It is debilitating in an insidious, undignified way.

It does not allow you the grandeur that a sporting injury offers. For instance when I fractured my back last year, I could tell a great story. "It's a football injury", I explained to my friends, "I was going for a bicycle kick and mistimed my jump." Whereupon I could tell that they thought my stupidity was hilarious, but my bravery was admirable. (I'm fully recovered, by the way, and back to playing football; or I would be if it were not for a stubbed toe.)

If I came down with malaria or chicken pox people would talk about me with sympathy and concern. They would inquire after my well-being and send me commiserative emails. Some brave souls might even drop by and leave presents of chocolates. These would cheer me up even though I would not be allowed to eat them until after I had recovered.

But I have a cold. And if I try to tell people that I have a cold, they don't want to hear about it. It's a cold after all, and oh-so-common. It's not life-threatening. It's not pneumonia or even the flu. It's just a messy, snuffly, inconvenience.

No it's not! It's a disease!
It causes fever and malaise! I cannot breathe! I cannot sleep!
I should by rights be taking sick leave but through an act of sheer courage I have dragged myself to the office!

Not that anyone cares. Why, just this morning one of my colleagues looked at my morose face with concern and asked me if I was unwell. "Yes," I sniffed in reply, "I hab a gold". She looked at me blankly for a second, deciphered what I had said, and then turned away without a further word. Ah the injustice! I expected her to sympathise with me in a low, concerned tone. I thought she would tell me in her best maternal manner that I should go straight home and tuck myself into bed with a steaming mug of soup. Not a bit of it.

So instead of taking her unoffered advice to rest, I slaved through the day. I desultorily sipped hot water. I ate a sandwich for lunch and wondered what it tasted like. I ran through 2 packets of paper towels and frightened a young financial analyst by loudly clearing my nose in the bathroom (something about the acoustics creates quite a frightful echo).

Thank goodness for antibiotics. I am gleefully nuking the rhinoviruses (rhinovirii?) that have attempted to seize control of my nasal passages. I shall thwart their attempted coup and put them down ruthlessly. The ringleaders will be dealt with mercilessly and even their misguided followers will find no quarter. In this fight to the death the first victim will be mercy. Woe betide the uppity bug who thinks it can take me on.

For in the end I shall prevail, open-nosed, unwatery-eyed, and clear-voiced.

Amen.