This past weekend I was sick with a low-grade fever, a cough, and some mild chest congestion. I got home from work Friday and sat in a chair in my mudroom for about two hours without moving, thinking I was just worn out after a long week of work.
I spent most of Saturday and Sunday sleeping, and finally began feeling some relief Sunday evening. I took Monday off, as my temperature was around 101.4 Sunday evening.
That doesn’t make for exciting reading, but every time I am sick, it reminds me of how thankful I am for the vast majority of days I am well. God and genetics blessed me with a very hardy constitution, so I get sick a.) infrequently and b.) mildly. Rarely—about once every five-to-ten years—I get very sick for a spell of a week or two, such as last summer’s bout of Maybe-The-Virus and The Great Christmas Flu of 2014.
