I don’t do sick. I will generally refuse to accept that something is wrong with me, ignore it and just continue with my usual routine in the hope that whatever is trying to bring me down will get the message and go away. Last Tuesday, after six hours of talking on the phone at work, it felt as if a very discontent cat was stuck inside my throat trying to claw its way out. I took some cold tablets and went to bed early, declaring it would be gone the following morning.
It didn’t go away and instead that cat insisted on turning into some sort of ‘cold’ thing that should have been and gone by now. Instead, yesterday (Sunday) morning I woke up with some slightly sticky eyes, a slightly unpleasant experience that has now progressed into GIANT RED PUFFBALLS EXPLODING WITH GREEN GOO. I am not looking my most attractive. In fact, I look hideous. So hideous that I am not going in to work today (something I never ever do) to avoid making all of my hot-desking colleagues look as gorgeous as me. The sharing of keyboards and blue-tooth headsets makes for easy disease spreading.
But really, who gets conjunctivitis as an adult? I have always considered it to be something kids get like chicken pox and nits. I remember getting conjunctivitis as a child and waking up unable to open my eyes. In those days I could call out to my mum who would save me from the eye-goo and let me watch videos instead of going to school. But now I am a grown woman and my mum is on the other side of the world. This morning when I woke up to discover that my eyelashes had sealed themselves together I had no one to call out to. It was just me and Google, working out whether or not I would survive or if I should amputate my eye balls. Plus, I have had to resort to writing a blog entry telling of my woes, calling out to the internet for sympathy. The worst part is that conjunctivitis isn’t even serious and, according to Wikipedia, will just clear up on its own. No drugs or intensive physiotherapy required. In fact, all I have to do is stay away from other people so that they don’t catch my disease and they don’t have to deal with looking at my ugly face. If roles were reversed and I was reading these pathetic whines I would tell myself to man up! Snap out of it! And I will eventually, but until I cease looking like a distressed mole I might just make myself feel better with dark chocolate digestive biscuits.