The Plague

I thought I was safe. I thought, for once, I had escaped unscathed. Unharmed. Untouched.
And then, I woke up yesterday morning, unable to breathe. The [name of PI] Lab Plague had officially struck.

This happens, every fall, and then again around February. Someone brings in some unidentifiable flu-like disease. This is no normal cold -- it comes with a fever, and aches, and seriously knocks you down, but it's not the flu -- it's the Lab Plague. And it spreads like wildfire throughout our lab, and only our lab. Pretty much the entire lab, aside from yours truly and the two PIs were out sick the beginning and middle of last week. But since I now sit far, far away from everyone else -- alas, I have an entirely different room number than everyone else -- I thought, perhaps, I would be safe.

Despite my circular dichroism disaster, requiring me to work in the lab for 37.5 consecutive hours, I was feeling fine. Somehow, despite my lack of sleep, my immune system was doing its job! The plague-carriers had taken their sick days off, returned to the lab healthy, and I was still feeling fine. I made it through the weekend completely unsick, and thought I was in the clear.

And then, on Monday morning, I woke up. With a stuffy nose. I tried to convince myself it was just allergies. It would go away. And by 1pm, I was completely unable to breathe, and had developed a fever. By 3pm, I was back home, on the couch, with a headache. And by 9pm, I had been kicked out of my own bed, by a husband, fearful of the plague, forced to sleep on the couch, dreaming of upgrading to a two-bedroom condo, complete with a guest room.

Today, I have not even managed to change out of my pajamas, or even move off the couch, except to make myself a cup of tea (with my brand-new, kiwi green, Le Creuset, whistling teakettle, a wedding present). The floor around me is covered with dozens of used tissues, I'm drinking boiling hot tea, wrapped in a fleece blanket, sniffling, unable to breathe -- and the most bizarre part of it all? Washington, D.C. is in the middle of a heat wave. I have our standard winter Lab Plague, and it is 86 degrees outside. If it didn't require so much energy, I'd go put on shorts, and lie on our patio in the lounge chair and try to bake the plague out of me.

But instead, I used my sick day for some blog maintenance. Finally updated the header to reflect the fact that I am, indeed, now a fourth year grad student, and updated my blog links. If I forgot you -- my apologies -- I'm clearly not thinking well right now. Please, drop me a comment or an email if you belong on my blogroll, and I'll add you ASAP!

But despite the fact that I feel like utter shit, and have zero interest in consuming anything other than the pounds of post-nasal drip falling down the back of my throat, my charming husband just asked me what would be for dinner tonight. Because although the man may be capable of saving lives as a doctor, he is utterly unable to survive on his own or even make grilled cheese. Which means that even though I clearly won't be eating, he feels it is my responsibility as his wife to still cook him dinner. Apparently that whole "in sickness and in health" thing means not that he will take care of me when I am sick, but that regardless of how sick I am... it's still my responsibility to take care of him. Lucky bastard.