When the Universe Ignores Detective Shows
You know how in detective shows, someone commits a crime and you think, “Okay, case closed, he can’t possibly do another one”? Well, apparently the universe didn’t get that memo, because here I am—in week 8 of recovery, hobbling around like a pirate on a wedge-filled shoe—and the flu strolls in like it owns the place.
Flu: The Unwelcome Guest
In my entire history of flu encounters, nothing has ever dared to overstay its welcome. Usually, it’s a sneeze, a minor groan, hot water and lemon and poof—you’re done. Not this time. Maybe it’s the four rounds of antibiotics hammering my system like a toddler in a drum class. Maybe it’s karma. Either way, my immune system is auditioning for a reality show called Confused and Overworked, and the flu is the annoying producer who keeps shouting, “More drama!”
The Middle Stage Grind
Recovery has stages, and the middle stage is the one no one talks about. The start is all fireworks: “Surgery! Oh my god!” Everyone is horrified, flowers arrive, chocolates appear. The end? Oh, sweet milestones: bending your foot, walking without looking like a baby giraffe, possibly even wearing real shoes again. But the middle? The middle is the grind. Life shrinks down to: wedge, shuffle, bed, repeat. My foot is basically in medieval armor and I’m in a very slow-motion training montage, except without Rocky music—just sighing and negotiating with gravity.
Flu vs. Recovery: The Plot Twist
And then the flu shows up. Like, “Hi, remember your immune system? We’re going to see how flexible it is.” I’m here thinking: Wait… am I allowed to be getting sick while recovering? Isn’t one epic crisis enough? Do I need to sign a waiver to the universe for extra plot twists?
Heroism in the Small Things
Surviving the middle stage is heroic, even if it looks boring from the outside. Life isn’t about dramatic milestones—it’s about showing up, even if your biggest accomplishment of the day is moving from the bed to the chair without crying or swearing. And yes, maybe the flu is a clingy guest who won’t leave, but surviving it while navigating wedge warfare makes you a star in your own slightly ridiculous saga.
So here I am: week 8, antibiotic warrior, wedge-walking ninja, flu-survivor-in-training, part-time dramatic actor in the medical comedy of my life. I may not have a medal yet, but I’ve got stories, a killer sense of irony, and the ability to laugh—or at least grimace humorously—about this chaos.
