Sam and I are snobs about being poorly. We both have immune systems of steel, and mock people who update social networking sites with how sorry for themselves they are about their two-bit colds. Maybe they should eat some vegetables, get some exercise and not clean their house so obsessively, we chuckle.
Oh how smug and superior we are.
In fact, in the coming up for four years we have been together I think Sam has been ill once. I have been ill twice. And never at the same time, so the other one is always capable of dashing to the shop for Lemsip (always in a mild state of panic that the other one must be dying because they are simply never, ever ill).
How the mighty have fallen.
The endless parade of working days and days and days has finally caught up with me. My body has given up. And instead of just getting into bed and admitting defeat, I have continued to train, defiant, insisting that I can "sweat it out". So what might have just been a cold has now morphed into a behemoth of a virus, with painful chest, sweats, dizzy spells, achey muscles and misery for all around me. And poor old Sam has got it too.
So there's nobody to look after anybody else, and our house is a house of Sorry For Itself.
(I have resisted posting anything on Facebook)
The annoying thing is that when I'm off ill now, I do not get paid. And not getting paid when you're only on the cusp of a 5 figure salary anyway is a bitter pill to swallow. So just as well I have an immune system of steel. And let's just say I won't be gloating about it anymore. I am just going to be quietly grateful for it. And NOT force myself to train when I'm ill.
Regardless of how worried I am about squidging into my wedding dress.