Flu

Perspective.

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It was a glorious Friday afternoon. I so badly wished I’d been able to get to the surgery earlier so that I could bask in that golden late afternoon autumn sun. I parked my car on the side of the road adjacent to the building, collected my belongings, locked up and made my way toward my doctor’s surgery.

I stepped inside the green waiting room, announced my name and appointment time to the receptionist before being gestured to take a seat. I made my way towards the corner of the room, taking a seat beside the ottoman stacked with dated magazines. I placed my trusty diabetes case, keys, pocket wifi and pocket tissue pack down beside me, and settled in for the long wait.

I had the flu. I had copped the brunt of it the day prior and was feeling somewhat better, but decided to take advantage of a sick day and pay my doctor a visit for another matter that I’d been putting off for a while.

I buried my head into my phone – something I’ve actually been making a conscious effort to do less of lately – and caught up on some of the news in my feeds.

I did a quick scan of the room. After grouping people together, I figured that there were five or six people waiting to see the doctor late on that Friday. I continuously glanced through the sliding glass door, watching the sunlight disappear from the street corner as the darkness set in.

As I watched the clock slowly move past six and closer to six thirty, the wait wasn’t even particularly bothering me. I wasn’t even thinking about how lousy I felt anymore. I was beginning to feel plagued with sympathy over this hour of day that I was demanding my doctor.

I thought about what I would normally be doing at this time on a Friday. I’d probably be well caffeinated, sweetened, showered and in clean clothes, capping off another working week. I’d probably be sitting down to a nice dinner with my family after grocery shop day. Yet here was my doctor, who had probably started his work day at the same time as me, still shouting out patients names from down the hall before appearing at the reception desk.

My doc could have made his last appointment at 5 instead of 5.30. He could have allocated longer appointment times so that he didn’t fall behind schedule and might get home on time. But he didn’t.

Although he was understandably hurrying things along, my doctor didn’t complain once as he called me in and prepared for me what I had asked for. I was in and out in less than five minutes. 

Our healthcare system is far from perfect. I’m the first person to complain about anything and everything. But this particular visit, at this particular hour of the day, came with a nice little lens that put things into a different perspective.

I’m certainly glad that there are people out there in the world, like my doctor, going above and beyond to help sick people get better.

(Although, as always some more resources to help people like my doc would always be greatly appreciated).

My Lousy, Flu-Ridden Friday

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My Friday had gotten off to a terrible start. I’d had very little sleep thanks to a wonderful cold, and it wasn’t until 5am that my drowsiness finally overpowered my congestion. My alarm went off at 5.30am, and I angrily hit the snooze button for another half an hour. By 6am, I knew that I had to get up.

Thankfully, nothing crazy was happening blood sugar level wise and there was no signs of ketones. But I felt absolutely terrible. It was cold, grey and raining outside. And I wanted nothing more than to call in sick to work and stay in bed. I knew that nobody would really think I was just chucking a sickie a day out from the weekend. I knew that I would easily have been able to guilt them with diabetes excuses if I really had to.

But I knew that we are always short staffed on Fridays, and I felt guilty for my workmate who would be left on his own if I didn’t go in. I also had to grab the key off of him as it would be my responsibility to open up next week. And being a day out from the weekend, I knew I might be asked for a doctor’s certificate if I didn’t go in. So, against all stupidity, I decided to get up, shower off all traces of Vicks that I’d rubbed on my chest through the night, and went to work.

For most of the day I was quiet. I was short. I didn’t feel like talking. I gave one word, unenthusiastic, I-don’t-really-give-a-shit-answers. People asked me what was wrong. I felt guilty sneezing and blowing my nose in front of others, despite doing my best to do it over in the corner. The day seemed to absolutely drag as I watched the rain pour from the miserable grey sky outside.

Honestly, my biggest regret of the day was that people had to see my shitty, flu induced mood. I felt so guilty and so embarassed that people had to see me like that. I don’t like to bring my problems to work and dump them on others. I go to work with diabetes every single day. I never let it interfere with what I have to get done. I never use it as an excuse to get out of something. I test, inject, correct and treat hypos in private. I rarely complain about it. And my colleagues always forget that I have diabetes whenever I bring it up in conversation in the staff room. And in a weird way, I’m kind of proud of the fact that I don’t make diabetes anyone else’s problem.

So why couldn’t I keep it together on Friday? Why was an innocent cold the thing that brought my world crashing down? I guess I was pissed that I guilted myself into going in. I guess I was pissed that I didn’t stay home in the first place. And I guess I was pissed that I didn’t take the time to look after myself.

And as it turned out, going home at lunchtime to look after myself was the best decision I made all day.

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