I sit here this weekend, suffering in a way that, in the entire history of the world, only I have suffered.  I am achy, tired, dizzy, of clouded mind and I have an inherent need to let everyone know it.  It would be unfair to say that I just have a cold.  No, this is far greater, dire, and grim than that.  I, have a man cold.

I’m not sure what happens to us, exactly; tests have shown that estrogen combats and reduces virus counts, so that’s certainly something to mention, but even though science has (successfully) proven that the existence of a “man cold” is a real thing, I’m not convinced that even the top minds at Harvard could explain some of the things that happen to us when we start to get the sniffles.

The signs of a man cold are clear, and the symptoms to watch out for can not, and should not be mistaken.

Day Zero – we will make a claim to our partner, or anyone else who will listen, that “I can feel something coming on.”

Day One –  the pitch of our voice changes – it turns raspy, low and whispered.  We start wearing a hoodie, regardless of how hot or cold we claim to be (this hoodie will be the consistent thing that we wear until the man cold passes.  It will give us a sense of comfort, though we will be oblivious to the effects and odours it will present to everyone else around us).

Day Two –  we being making ridiculous claims and statements, such as: “I have never been this sick in my life”, or “honestly, I think something could be seriously wrong”, and “I feel like my muscles are filled with sand, I can’t even lift my arm anymore.”

Day Three –  we will need someone else to take our temperature because, well, the sand in our muscles has degenerated into complete atrophy.  Also on day three – for no particular reason we may start to limp, and we will start making random, weird noises and grunts, seemingly in the hopes that someone in the other room will notice, take pity on us, and offer to bring us ‘whatever we need’.  Of course, when they do ask if we need anything, our response will undoubtedly be something to the effect of, “No.  There’s nothing in the world that could help me now.”

Day Four – well, let’s just hope it never gets to day four.

These are all facts, and should be heeded as a warning. This man cold business is serious and is not to be taken lightly.  We could die; perhaps not from the cold itself, of course, but if we don’t stay inside, tucked under a blanket on the couch in the living room, rather than in my own bed, so that no one else can enjoy the space or watch TV, well, my clouded, congested, dizzy, sand-filled might just limp the wrong way down the stairs.

“This cold has relentlessly latched onto me, feeding on my energy in ways that no one else could ever understand.  It’s literally the worst feeling a person can have.”  Those, of course, are absurd thoughts, and the singular part of my brain that happens to still be functioning properly knows how ridiculous that sounds.  But then again, these are the very real consequences of the man cold – it doesn’t just take control of our body; it has the ability to control our very mind!

These colds are not fleeting, either.  I mean, best case scenario: we’re starting to feel better (meaning that we can now dress and feed ourselves again)  in about 4-days.  More realistic: it’s a week before the ones we love can start to tolerate us again.

When my wife gets sick – coughing, sneezing, headache and the like,  I may ask her: “How are you feeling?”  and, without fail, and no matter how severe the symptoms may be, she is going to reply:  “Oh, I’m at 85%, I’d say”.  This statement, of course, is stated as she is simultaneously making the kids breakfast, packing up their lunches, and getting herself ready to go on the treadmill, or perhaps gearing up for a little yoga.  Later that same day, she will advise that she’s going to head to bed early, and when she wakes up the following morning I will once again ask, with the sincerest of sympathetic tones in my voice as I rest my hand against her forehead to see how bad her temperature might be: “Good morning, my love, how are you today?”.  Her response is now going to one of two things.  It’s either “90%!”  or “Oh, I’m great, just needed a nap to shake it off.”  Regardless of which answer she provides, she is dressed and ready for work, and has the calendar out to discuss the plans for the upcoming weekend.

My wife drinks tea when she’s sick.  Me?  I have a drugstore set up in every room of the house.  I have my daytime cough syrup, my nighttime sleeping pill, 3-boxes of  tissues, the moisturizer for when my nose gets so raw from the constant sneezing, the Advil for the aches and pains, the heating pad for my neck, four glasses of water, my mid-day cough syrup, 6-half finished rolls of lozenges, nasal spray, sanitizer, you name it, I am ready for anything.  I also have a bag of sour cream and onion chips, which to onlookers is probably the thing that downgrades the severity of my situation, but if this should be my last meal, well that bowl of chips is the only sense of comfort I have left.

When my kids get sick?  Simple –

Me: “How are you sweetie?  You feeling ok?”
Them: ‘cough-cough’ “Yeah, I’m good.  Can I have some ice cream and go on the trampoline?”

Are we ridiculous?  Do we exaggerate?  Typing out these thoughts and reflections on my own behaviours I would say, ‘maybe’.   Then again, does science have it wrong?