Everyone is talking about Hillary Clinton’s “health scare” from this weekend, but not in a, “Gosh, I hope she’s doing okay,” kinda way.
No, they’re talking about her pneumonia diagnosis like it’s the key to uncovering her secret robot chromosome the doctors have been hiding for all these years.
Even if she does have a secret robot chromosome, how could that possibly be a bad thing? It would certainly explain a few things.
But whatever, I’m so over the drama. Anyone who knows mankind knows this is what happens when men get sick:
This whole pneumonia thing is a non-story, and the attention it’s getting is maddening.
It’s only recently that I’ve actually taken a beat to rest while I’m sick, and that’s because I can. Before? I couldn’t. Because I couldn’t. It was literally not possible for me to be sick. And I even have backup.
Back in 2008 I got the flu, and Bryan couldn’t take time off to help me because he was on a deadline death march. Netflix didn’t exist yet, or at least it didn’t have streaming. The kids watched Finding Nemo and PBS shows while jumping on me as I played dead on the sofa.
It was ugly, but I soldiered on. Here’s a slice of that week, brought to you by my weird need to document life like it’s a mashup of The Notebook and The Truman Show:
I give The Flu the finger and start my day with two Advil and a cup of coffee, laying helplessly on the couch as I wait for Advil to kick in. Iâ€™m staying ahead of the pain.
When it does kick in, I clean the bathroom. I spray the entire thing down with Lysol, including all the door knobs and cabinet handles. I spray all the door knobs in the hallway. I spray the front and back door. I spray the couch. I spray my chair. I spray the phone. I shut down my laptop and give it a good rub down. I scour the kitchen with Lysol All-Purpose cleaner with bleach. My nostrils are now burning, and my children are growing extra toes, but my house sparkles (read the full post here).
(That is quite an epic post. You should really read the whole thing.)
Twelve days later I was diagnosed with pneumonia. After a week of coughing all night, I had a scare where I couldn’t inhale after coughing, so I went to the doctor.
She prescribed an antibiotic, and I said, “Can I go running tomorrow?”
And she said, “Don’t be stupid.”
So yeah. What’s the big deal about pneumonia?