You are not actually sick, just a bit unwell and this, too, will pass. You cancel things involving other people to spare them the industrial noises emanating from your lungs that signal the bugs might be heading towards them but remain locked into the notion that this is a minor distraction, an attention-seeking ailment of no real merit.
Maintaining denial becomes harder as the cough morphs into a fair imitation of seal barking on a lonesome rock on a desolate beach.
This causes consternation among all you encounter on the phone, especially friends who all have a bright sense of humour and make funny remarks when you call them which make you laugh and then fall into a round of fierce coughing that leads to a mournful period of silence as they reel from the sound of what appears to be a death rattle.
The next stage involves seeing the doctor as it becomes increasingly clear that the cough is getting worse, not better.
The good doctor listens to the sounds coming out of your lungs, especially the peculiar noises that can be heard even without a stethoscope and pronounces that you are in fact unwell, need medication and signs a certificate for your employer.
By this time, you have already moved on to the next stage in the cycle. It is no longer denial but anger that such a thing should befall you, just when there is so much to do. There are work tasks waiting at both your jobs and in your other life as a musician and writer requiring attention; there are commitments you have made and now you are stuck at home hoping the endless coughing will stop.
The anger becomes pointless so you move to bargaining - I can manage all these things provided I can talk to people on the phone without coughing through the entire conversation as this creates alarm in the listener, especially if they crack a funny which triggers laughter then a fit of coughing.
This causes particular consternation in my case as I do like a good pun (puns are unusual in that when they are bad, they are very good).
This part of the cycle includes feeling depressed by the whole thing and then rushing towards acceptance.
Recognising that getting better is going to take much longer than a day feels like a form of surrender with conditions. It means delegating, postponing, rescheduling large parts of your life towards an horizon that shines with the potential of recovery.
In our household it was inevitable that my wife would get the bugs as well, so we currently have a stereo coughing effect providing a soundtrack for the notion that the family that coughs together stays together.
Recovery remains the destination but the journey is no fun. For those who recognise themselves in this tale, I hope you all get better soon.
-Terry Sarten (aka Tel) is a local musician, writer, social worker - feedback: tgs@inspire.net.nz
