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We have a running family joke: I am the person in our family that gets mancolds. Whereas whenever Jeff gets sick, he stoically
martyrs continues on as if nothing is wrong, I get all weepy and complainy and tired and try to take to my bed.
I don’t get sick very much, thankfully.
But I am now. I am so, so, so sick. Achy and coughy and low-grade fevery and short of breath and tired and it feels like someone shoved a hot poker down my throat into my lungs. I can’t take a breath and when I do it really hurts and I just want to feel better.
And of course, it’s the worst week to BE sick. I took last week off, so there’s a ton of work to do, and O has two 3 hour early release days because of parent-teacher conferences.
Being sick really is a humbling reminder that we’re human, isn’t it?