As you may or may not be aware, a nasty flu bug is making its way across the Upstate. If you’ve managed to avoid it by hand washing, quarantine, or sheer luck — keep doing whatever it is you’re doing because trust me, you don’t want this.

If, like me, you weren’t quite so lucky — all I can say is buckle in. You’re in for a hell of a ride.

Fever, chills, body aches, loss of appetite, nausea … This bug has it all. It will wreck you and reduce a normally strong, healthy individual into a weak, shivering, shell of a person who can do nothing more than curl up in bed and whimper.

I’m not exaggerating.

For the past two days, the only thing I’ve been able to keep down is water. Small sips of water. The usual safe foods like toast, chicken broth or saltine crackers are immediately and violently rejected.

My temperature has remained steady at 102.3 despite the additions of Tylenol and Motrin to my blood stream and I find my only relief comes from frequent showers that — for a moment anyway — make me almost feel human again.

Of course, like any virus, the worst part is simply enduring it. There’s no magic cure, only supportive care. To that end, I’m not even sure why I bothered going to the doctor’s office as other than providing me with a diagnosis, there was nothing they could really do.

In fact, I probably just made everything worse by spreading my plague all across the waiting room. I have become the Typhoid Mary of Easley.

As someone not generally prone to getting sick, I have discovered I turn into a huge baby when I do. Like most moms, a cold isn’t something to put us off our feet — there’s still kids to take care of, meals to cook, a house to clean, etc. Women don’t call it a day because of the sniffles — we work through it.

There is no working through this though and I shipped my kids off to my in-laws both because I was incapable of caring for them and I don’t want to infect them. My entire house will have to bathed in Purel before they can come back.

As of now, Tuesday afternoon, I am in bed, wrapped in flannel and debating whether I should be writing my last will and testament instead of this column — a notion my husband finds comical.

Despite his assurances I will live, I can’t help but think he’s wrong because I can’t remember a time where I have ever felt this badly before.

I actually told him if I didn’t make it to mourn me forever and never remarry — a sentiment he attributed to the fever talking.

Sure, we can go with that …

https://www.newberryobserver.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/web1_044.jpg

Strickly Speaking

Kasie Strickland

Kasie Strickland is a staff writer for The Sentinel-Progress and can be reached at kstrickland@civitasmedia.com. Views expressed in this column are those of the writer only and do not necessarily represent the newspaper’s opinion.