Remember way back when Prince Charles got engaged to the then Lady Diana? There was a joke going around that when they got married and had their first child they would name it Up. Then the family would be known as Up, Chuck and Di.
I can relate to that this weekend.
Wednesday I made the mistake of getting a flu shot.
I should have remembered why I haven't gotten one in the past five years. Silly me, I thought it was only because I swelled up like a toad at the injection site. I forgot about the other fun that always follows.
For some reason my quite cumbersome body looks at the totally dead virus as an invader from an alien planet. It sometimes takes up to a week after I get this type of shot, but I always, ALWAYS, end up sicker than your proverbial dog with some sort of stomach/achy/wish I was dead thing. And I cursed the memory I did not possess on Wednesday with a mighty and powerful curse when it showed up.
Today has been worse, with the vile demonic bug attacking joints I did not know I had along with making me both ravenous and nauseous at the same time. Sleep has been my only escape.
And if you mention to a doctor that you believe you'll pass, thank you, on the flu shot for the year because you tend to start heaving up Cleveland within a week of the shot EVERY SINGLE TIME, said doctor will look at you over his/her glasses with that you-are-such-a-phony look and say, "Hmmm. But it's a DEAD VIRUS. It CAN'T make you sick."
Manslaughter is perfectly legal in the above case. Especially if you've heard it more than once from more than one doctor, and doubly so if you've heard it more than once from the same doctor.
The H1N1 shots are supposed to be available soon at local health departments. For some reason I'm not so very excited at the prospect of getting one.
Probably because with my luck, I'll end up running around on all fours with a curly tail, squealing my head off.
Oh, between the times I'm heaving up Cleveland, that is.