I’m ill.
On seeking an appropriate amount of sympathy I am advised by friends that I have man flu. I protest. ‘There is no such thing as man flu’ I complain heartedly whilst coughing up a small amount of nothing.
Even if there was such thing as man flu, surely I deserve more sympathy as a transplant patient? This isn’t just man flu after all, this is man flu on steroids. Literally in my case.
My close friend Jennifer is the first to show less than the required amount of sympathy whilst we make our way through a mid-week roast. Yet she too will succumb to this ‘man flu’, she too will need sympathy and support from her friends, yet she will only really suffer from ‘flu’, as Jennifer is of course a woman and not a man.
I will fight my illness like a man. I will stand up for men everywhere and show that we can fight this virus like the stoic, strong figures we are. I will be a role model for those boys emerging, blinking and terrified into manhood. I shout ‘I am a man!’ and then retreat to my bed as shouting seemed to make my chest hurt more.
First of all I need to check the symptoms of ‘man flu’ and then make sure I have all the equipment I need for such a battle.
‘Man flu’ as defined by wikipedia is of course just a common cold or the flu with exaggerated symptoms that causes the man to seek extra attention and care. In my case my ‘man flu’ is in fact a chest infection. I know this because my doctor stuck his stethoscope to my chest and tapped it a few times with his fingers.
I pop to the pharmacist and pick up some supplies. I get myself some antibiotics (as prescribed of course), some paracetamol with caffeine to keep me awake, some linctus because I like the taste and then some whisky from the supermarket next door.
This should be easy I think, despite my cough trying to pull my mind towards a negative place. I take a full load of antibiotics, pain killers, linctus and wash it down with a little whisky. This is the mans cure I decide. This is what men do! I haven’t even phoned my mum!
Feeling upbeat I read through some ‘man flu’ news to see if my display of courage is reaching men everywhere, and as I do I come across an interesting article. A survey of the British workforce in 1999 found that men took half the sick leave of women. No wonder we find it tough, what with our busy workloads. Despite my retirement status I take this as another moral victory against my unsympathising female friends.
A few days in and as yet there is no sign of improvement. I’m tired, I’m coughing all the time, I mean ALL the time and as yet I’ve not even had a cuddle. Even the toughest of us need a cuddle from time to time. I bet even Bear Grylls gets a cuddle when he gets home I think to myself.
Feeling low I suffer a moment of weakness and post an ill selfie of myself on Facebook. Initial comments are full of the requisite sympathy with plenty of ‘hugs’ and kisses being sent electronically to sooth my furrowed brow.
Then it starts. ‘Don’t whine’ says one, ‘Pull yourself together man!’ says another with a helpful smiley emotion as though that will help. Worse follows though. Much worse. I’m sent a comment telling me to ‘man up!’ and it has been sent from a man, a comrade, someone who knows what our struggle is like. Hurt I retreat back to my whisky.
Sad I speak to Jennifer and to my surprise she is suffering more than I am. This is good news! Well maybe not for her but certainly for mankind. We have similar symptoms, similar coughing fits and she has even said she is so sick she wants her mother! Men 1 v Women 0.
As the week makes it way to a close we have been neck and neck in our suffering. Both of us in sick beds, both spreading little white bundles of snot across our respective homes and both of us having to pluck up the energy to do tasks that can’t be avoided. On the Sunday we both get ourselves out of sick beds and make our way for a brunch meeting with friends.
Along with myself and Jennifer are my friends Sarah, Andrea and Lisa and as we regale them with our woes they are quick to offer sympathy, but sympathy that only seems to go in Jennifer’s direction. ‘Oh you poor thing’ they say warmly, ‘how have you coped with being so poorly?’.
I cough. Nothing. I cough a little louder, yet it seems my symptoms are invisible compared to Jennifer’s. Typical. I bet this is why wars start. Men suffering unduly with their man flu whilst taking less time off sick and all the while being ignored. No wonder we get angry. I can feel myself ready to invade some little known South American island.
Every time I mention how hard it’s been the sympathy goes back to Jennifer. I’m so annoyed I even forgot to mention the steroids I’d been on, or how I’d coughed so hard I made myself fart on every cough. Apparently to get sympathy you just need to ‘sniff’ and have red eyes from all that sneezing.
It’s been a tough week and I head to manful.info for a little support. I find it in the reassuring wisdom of one Katherine Taylor who posted these words in the sites guestbook.
‘I am a woman and I believe in Manflu. I respect every man and know that men have a flu strain and women have a moaning strain. We each have our weaknesses and we should freely admit them. Bless the handsome male race.’
I imagine Katherine to be a beautiful, caring woman with big eyes and soft, warm arms. I would soon be better under her doting care. I dream for a minute and then I realise the sad truth. Katherine must actually be a man.
I cry.
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