It started this time with an uncomfortable feeling in my upper chest. Not a tickle, but an urge to clear my throat or maybe lungs. A gritty sensation. Oh no.

That was Monday or Tuesday. By Thursday, I knew I was getting actual-sick and left work mid-afternoon.

“Wow, you get sick a lot,” a coworker said.

I considered responding with my most sarcastic THANKS, but instead I bit my tongue, forced a smile and walked back into my office to cough all by myself. Do people think they’re being at all helpful pointing out the obvious? What do they hope to accomplish?

I spent Friday in bed, hoping that with rest, I could stop the cough from worsening.

But the cough stayed the same and my sinuses began doing disgusting things. I learned that double-sneezes were not the limit of my range. Not even close.

I stationed tissue boxes on each side of my bed and perfected my used tissue bank shot.

When I woke up Saturday, I tried to go about my business – coffee, groceries and CVS – until realizing that I felt feverish. Sure enough, when I took my temperature at home, the digital thermometer read 102.1. CRAP.

“Maybe it’s the flu,” Mr. Wonderful texted me.

“BUT I GOT A FLU SHOT,” I responded in the whiniest possible tone.

Off I went to the local outpatient clinic on Sunday morning where I did indeed fail the influenza test. Type A. Tamiflu and codeine cough syrup were prescribed. Damn.

Days passed. I watched mucho Law & Order and most of Younger season 1. When my brain would focus, I’d do some work and read some of this.  By yesterday, I started to feel human again.

It’s time to go back to work where someone almost surely will greet me with those terrible words. I beg you to tell me a useful response or at least a putdown that won’t get me fired.