...and its accompanying guilt.
I've probably mentioned this before, but I rarely get sick. I take care of myself, I'm fit, I eat right, and I can sometimes go two or three years without needing a sick day. About a year ago, my back created some problems for me, but even with the sometimes excruciating pain of random, unpredictable movements, I'd go to work if it was a "teach day" for me, and take the day off if it wasn't a "teach day."
Basically, I'm loathe to foist my personal responsibilities unto anyone else, even when I know going to work will make me sicker and more miserable and even expose everyone with whom I come into contact to my bug. My distaste for having to call in sick is more intense at this job than it's been anywhere else, because: everyone else, like I, has too much on his plate already; anyone who covers my classes must do prep for mine as well as hers, a huge time-sink I can't request in good conscience; other instructors don't know what I require of my students, and students get mixed messages concerning expectations, which makes grading less exacting.
In general, though, I never have liked to have to call in sick, even when I'm at death's door, because I always wonder if someone will say, "Is she really sick, though?" I've been known to go to work while I was still sick because I couldn't face calling in sick again. There comes a point (on or after the second day for me) where the act of calling in sick takes more effort than just going to work still sick.
I know I'm not the only one out there who has this problem, either.
But...I just did it. I just called in sick for the third day in a row, and I'm very proud of myself for clearing that hurdle.
I was fine, Tuesday, and at the peak of health. I went for a run with my running buddy at work. I felt no weakness, nausea or exhaustion (which normally precedes the flu). I went to bed at the regular time (8:30 - 9:00), then awoke abruptly at 2am Wednesday with, um, severe gastrointestinal distress. At first, I thought it was something I ate, because the fever and aches hadn't kicked in yet. By the time my system had purged itself--it's always a relief in such circumstances when you just run out of juice, isn't it?--I was trembling, weak, and deeply chilled. By morning, my temperature was at 100 and rising, my muscles were a mass of stabbing pains, and my eyes were hot and scratchy. I was scared to even sip water. It was my teach day, and I called in.
I should have gone to sick call. Sick call is a classic military Catch-22, in case you aren't familiar with it. It requires (technically) that if you're too sick to go to work, you have to go to sick call and get medication and a doctor's orders to be placed on quarters in order to excuse your not coming to work. See the problem? If I'm too sick to go to work, I'm too sick to get to sick call, too (particularly since my "sick call" is a 40+ minute drive away, followed by a usually interminable waiting room stint, etc). Most work centers recognize this flaw in the system and do not require the "doctor's slip" for their members to call in sick, though. Anyway...the Academy no longer has a designated "sick call." I have to call the clinic and get an appointment--or show up at the ER and wait to be seen by the first available doctor. Neither option is efficient and both are out of the question when you've lost gastrointestinal control, anyway.
So. No sick call. I stayed at home, slept and read and, exhausted from my reading (really!), slept some more. I finally broke the fever around 8pm.
I woke Thursday with a low-grade temp. Low-grade temps get no respect, in my experience. Every time I've gone to a doctor feeling like death warmed over, complaining of motion headaches, weakness, chills, and stabbing pains, and I don't have a 101 temp or above, he blows it off. Usually under such conditions, my temperature will be in around 96. He'll say, "Oh, it's just a little low," as though I'm just being a big baby. Make it 99, though--just .4 degrees up from normal--and he'll say, "Well, it is a little high," with interest. Listen: maybe a high temperature is the clinical proof that my body is fighting an infection and a low temperature clinically means nothing, but I'm far more miserable with a low-grade temperature than I am with a slightly high temperature. My low-grade temperatures want some respect, ok?
My stomach was also tender and I hadn't yet tried solid food, so I called in again. No biggie. It wasn't a teach day. Thanks to the low temp, my brain sloshed around in my head all day. Delightful. I was able to stay awake most of the day reading, so my energy was up. Despite having good reading material, boredom began to grip me. I could hold down (and in) food, though. Improvement! I'd be back at work today. No worries, no guilt.
I woke this morning with a sustained low temp--and a tender belly. I took a shower early, preparing for work. I walked up the stairs, paused a moment at the top, weak, leaden-limbed, and lightheaded. Oh no. Now I have to decide whether to make The Dreaded Third Day Call.
I walked to the bedroom and removed my bathrobe (in which I was already sweating) to get dressed, and became instantly chilled. I put it back on to stay warm, then bit the bullet.
Since it's a teach day, I have to make at least three calls, even. My "calling in work" chore is multiplied, you see. I have to speak to my course directors (two) so they can arrange coverage for my classes, then I notify whoever I can reach in the chain of command that I'm sick. I usually don't bother my boss with this; I call or drop a line to the secretary, who takes care of the rest for me.
Is it time for me to go to the doctor yet? I'm at a point where I think I could safely get there and endure sitting in the waiting room, etc. However...I'm past the initial 48 hours of this virus. I know from experience that there's nothing the doctor can do at this point but perhaps give me symptom-control meds (which I have) and place me on quarters--after I've been away from the healing powers of my bed for four or more hours. Thus, the trip would be pointless and even counterproductive at this point. See how it works?
I fully recognize that my guilt at being sick is a double-standard I levy upon myself. I'm pleased to be able to cover for a colleague who is ill, trapped in a snowstorm, etc. Even while I recognize how unfair I am to myself, I am unable to stop it. Others can be a burden via unavoidable circumstances and it's understandable. I'm happy to be able to help them in their time of need, even when it means extra work for me. But when I become the burden? Guilt.
I guess I'll go read now and fight the stir-craziness I feel setting in.
d
