Nat Locke: Think you’ve outsmarted the winter germ gods? Think again

Look, it’s my own fault. Sure, it was a momentary lapse, but I’m the only one to blame here. I, for but a fleeting moment, allowed a thought to formulate in my mind that was so audacious that the universe saw fit to immediately slap me down. And even though I didn’t even say it out loud, the fact that I imagined it into existence at all was enough to bring about my downfall.

It was a day like any other. I was blithely driving along Stirling Highway and instead of musing about the finish date of the new Fremantle traffic bridge or Erling Haaland’s new haircut, I foolishly thought to myself “Geez, I’ve gotten through this cold and flu season unscathed”.

And bang, just like that, within 36 hours, I was struck down with a nasty little bug.

The universe hasn’t been this brutal with its karmic response since that time I had an ever-so-brief cogitation that maybe I should start using the protective guard on the potato that I was slicing on a mandolin. At the precise moment that the thought concluded, I sliced my thumb and to this day, I still haven’t regained all of the feeling in it.

Now, I wouldn’t be so cavalier as to call what I suffered the flu, because I had that once many years ago and I felt like I had gone 12 rounds with Neil the Seal. But it was a nasty version of a cold and I give it zero stars. I do not recommend.

I have had plenty of time to reflect upon my brief bout of ill health though and it has made me realise that in the process of fighting it, you basically go through the five stages of grief.

First, there’s denial. I tried to convince myself it was just hayfever for the first 12 hours, which is not a wild assumption given I suffer with that particular godforsaken affliction. A few sneezes, some nasal congestion. Yep, definitely hayfever. Except it wasn’t.

Next, anger. In which I furiously cursed myself for being such an idiot. WHY did I think I had outsmarted the winter germ gods? Why aren’t tissues softer? Why isn’t there a warning on Vicks inhalers telling you not to use them while you’re lying down? Actually, there is, but you have to look very closely. But mark my words, it’s warranted. That stuff burns. And also, when this happens, you don’t get less angry.

Then you move into bargaining. Please, universe, don’t ruin the whole weekend for me. Let me be well enough for Saturday brunch and I’ll be a good person for the rest of the year. Clearly the universe did not think that was a very good deal because — spoiler alert — I did not make Saturday brunch. Mainly because the preceding night’s sleep was a fever-riddled hell ride. I was freezing cold, drenched in sweat and had dreams about vicious purple dogs. I would’ve given just about anything for a decent nap at that point. But unfortunately, I didn’t have much to offer.

After a dud round of bargaining, I swiftly transitioned to depression. Holed up on the couch with a box of tissues and a pounding headache, wallowing in self-pity. Yep. A sorry state indeed. And I’m not too proud to admit that this stage lasted for a good couple of days. While everyone else was frolicking in the weekend sunshine, I was coughing up chunks of my lung and moaning lightly.