Last week was rough.
I dropped off the radar for almost 48 hours because the flu hit me and hit me hard.
On Jan. 7, I woke up around 3 a.m. and couldn’t stop shivering.
After curling up into the fetal position, I fell back asleep for a while, but after that time really ceased to pertain to my world.
At some point I remember becoming coherent enough to call into work sick, and then it happened.
I relinquished the sustenance I had consumed the night before, and I began to hear it.
I swear I heard a train whistle, and I swear it continually sounded for two or three hours.
With the transcontinental railroad taking residence outside my home and allowing engines to whistle hello as they roared by, even the fetal position couldn’t help me sleep, so I left my bed and made my way to my recliner.
It was a treacherous walk as everything wasn’t holding still, which in my delirious state assumed it was the wind moving the house; however, I made it into my living room and flipped on the television in hopes of quitting my job as train conductor.
I didn’t leave my chair for nearly six hours.
During that time I quickly learned why people work between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m., and it is because there is nothing good on television.
I tried to watch the few of my favorite soap operas, but instead I filled the day with sweating, sleeping and making whiney calls to mother Karen.
Luckily father Steve brought some soup by on his way home from work.
I remember him coming by, but I don’t really recall anything of what was said except talking about my television reception and how it could be improved.
At some point I made my way into the kitchen and prepared a steamy both of chicken noodle soup.
Combined with a few saltine crackers, I feasted.
I began to turn the corner then.
After my hearty meal, I fell back asleep in my recliner for several hours before going back to bed.
By the next morning I felt better, so I gave work a try.
I never felt 100 percent, but the day went well. I knew I had defeated the demonic case of the flu.
I still wonder why I heard that train whistle.
I know I haven’t lived here that long, but I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a train come through town, let alone heard the whistle.
Granted, I’m sure trains do come through Moundridge, Kan., and I’ve simply never been in the right place at the right time to experience it.
It was a very strange and painful experience.
I don’t even remember the last time I had the flu, and I certainly don’t remember my joints and head hurting so badly or being delusional.
I’m just glad it’s over, and I sympathize with anyone else who is unlucky enough to be stricken with such a horrible case sickness.
But if you do happen to get it, please let me know if you hear a train whistle sounding too, OK?
