The T in male flu stands for bravery
The Grim Reaper is here. I'm dying. Not at some point. Now! The energy seeps out of me like water from a rusty watering can. Scenes of my life fly past me in fast motion. My immune system has collapsed. Gottened by furry viruses. Hundreds, thousands, millions. My last will: a sea burial, please.
And I do not even want a Kobe beef steak
And what does my wife bring me? Homeopathic globules, the little sisters of placebo. It's like saving a licked ship from sinking with a noodle strainer. I have no menstrual problems. I. Bin. Sick. At least need antibiotics. Rather morphine, high doses. Then go to the doctor !? The voice of my better half, only a diminishing echo in the distance. Belongs to only one ear. The other: deaf. Progressing organ failure. Would you like to say that I'm not going out of bed. Can not go. Not at all out of the house. But my voice is thinner than the cold chicken broth on the bedside table. My tongue, higher than a pastrami sandwich. Würg. Do not think about food. Because that's for sure: If you at the thought of a steak from Kobe beef not mouth water, but gastric acid shoots up, you can only be deadly sick. Or vegetarian.
My wife is an angel
Roll me sideways out of bed, slowly straighten me up. A process that shakes the laws of nature to their foundations. In other words: distilled will to survive. The hammering in my head is splitting my skull, a freight train with H. B. Baxxter at the wheel. Krame in the drug box. Risks and side effects bla, bla, bla. Green pack, great. Pills, as big as suppositories. Down with it. Still no improvement. Father, who you are in heaven ... An angel appears and lies down to me. My wife. My loving wife. In good and in bad times. Have found a place between the snot flags and self-pity. My skin as in aspic, but you kiss my sweaty forehead, stroking my greasy hair. "Stay with me ?, I bring out with the last of my strength. Stay with me. You do that as well and make sounds as if you wanted to calm down a runaway dog. Sh, sh Shhh? M tired. So infinitely tired. Your voice is good. And your proximity. Especially the touching hug. Maybe I will survive the day after all.
