In 1957 I was a teenager when I caught the Asian flu. I was very sick, but the doctors said it was a new strain and those of us who got it would probably have immunity to the flu for many years. It was 30 years before I had the flu again, and another 15 before I got it a second time. I was sick enough that time to think I might die, but also sick enough to go back to sleep and promise to worry about it if I woke up.
Two weeks ago I came down with the 2014 version of the flu. I haven’t been sick enough to think I was dying, but I do understand why it kills people, especially the elderly. The worst of it, after the incessant hacking cough, is that I can’t get rid of it. Every time I think I’ve finally vanquished it, I start coughing again, or fatigue sweeps over me and even the most mundane daily jobs seem gargantuan. Which is why my last post was March 15. I’m missing my cyber-conversations, though, so hope to return without too much delay.
But I am thinking perhaps I’ve used up my last flu-protection voucher issued in 1957.