Last week, a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…. It’s a time out from the Empire’s worldly affairs as a renegade viral horde, striking from a hidden base, breaches this writer’s defenses, and runs amok throughout her body. Internal chaos ensues as the enemy overwhelms primary cognitive centers, clogs respiration and lays waste the musculo-skeletal infrastructure….

Timber! The old bod crashed. I lay there, unable to move while the forces of good and evil battled it out with weapons of mass destruction: seismic sneezes, Vesuvial snot eruptions, chattering chills.

Hubby, Son, patients, paperwork, taxes.... So what? Whether I lived or died, everyone and everything would go on without me. The relief was… an A-ha! moment. I slept like the dead for two days.

On the third day, my mind began to clear, and tick over, albeit weakly: Oh come on. Get up. You can drive to the post office. If you don’t mail those birthday gifts today, they’ll be late.

My body just lay there.

My mind push-push-pushed: Let’s go! Those gifts! They'll be late!

My body just lay there.

I— my real Self, not my mind— had a second A-ha! moment:

I’M SICK. GIVE IT A BREAK. WHY PUSH? IT’S UNNECESSARY. IT’S DRAINING. IT’LL UNDERMINE RECOVERY.

I flashed back to the residency, when I worked for a week (including being on call) with a fever of a hundred and three degrees Fahrenheit and walking pneumonia. It wasn’t an option to call in sick, so I didn’t. I was what, thirty-three? Would I do that now? Hell, no. It was idiotic then. It would take years off my life now.

That settled it. I resolved to support the troops in expelling the alien menace. I prepared a spaghetti pot of ginger lemon tea.

I kid you not, this stuff is so potent, one swallow and your Clark Kent white blood cells morph into SuperWBCs. Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! Haha! Run for your life, Phantom Menace! Or, better yet, swim. Straight to the bladder, please.

I took a steaming cup to bed with me, cuddled up with the pooch and started a trash thriller. The experience was so luxurious, so hedonistic, so unbelievably comforting I— my real Self, not my mind— had a third A-ha! moment:

WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY TO INDULGE ALL MY GUILTY PLEASURES WITHOUT GUILT!! I'M SICK! I'M ALLOWED TO:

BE UNPRODUCTIVE.
BE UNAVAILABLE.
ENJOY THE PEACE AND QUIET OF STAYING HOME ALONE.
READ TRASH FICTION TILL MY EYEBALLS PEEL.
LAY IN BED ALL DAY.
NAP AT WILL. SLEEP TILL I WAKE UP, NO CLOCK.
PUTTER AIMLESSLY.

FOR ONCE, DOING THE RIGHT THING IS THE FUN THING!

So that’s what I did. For two divine days. Then the Empire struck back: Let’s go. Those gifts are late! I resisted, wanting a couple more, but alas, the old bod lives to serve.

Ginger Lemon Tea

Put on a spaghetti pot of filtered water to boil.
Peel and slice up a hand-sized piece of ginger. Add to boiling water.
Reduce heat and simmer for an hour, with lid slightly off edge to concentrate the infusion. Turn off the heat.
Wash and slice several lemons into thick coins. Toss the ends. Add the lemon slices to the standing ginger infusion.
Add honey to taste.
Dilute to taste.
Excellent hot, cold, diluted, sweet or not, however you like it!
Stores for at least a week in fridge.

To kick microbe butt, imbibe fresh and hot till your back teeth float. And then some.