It doesn’t get more romantic than this

Some people think that a sunset picnic is the epitome of romance. Not my body. Do you know what my body finds romantic? Bronchitis.
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If that didn’t make you swoon, let me use my brush of unnecessary descriptiveness to paint you a picture:

On Friday Mark had to leave work early to prove that just because you’re passing out from illness doesn’t mean you have to abide by speed restrictions.

When he got home I forced him to down all sorts of herbal and honey-infused beverages and vegetable soups, all the while trying not to exert my knowledge on the subject of disease. After all Mark was ill and had a fever so I wasn’t about to rub it in his face that in Poland back in my day, kids didn’t have wimpy immunisations, they went ahead and lived through diseases, so yes I’ve had rubella, measles, mumps, chicken pox and just about every other sickness known to man.

Staying modest about my disease-infested state of being was made harder by the fact that this was Mark’s first proper flu. Can you believe that? It was the first time he had experienced hot and cold flushes. First time! So, as the rodent of the Northern Beaches, I somewhat cockily assumed that I’d probably already had this flu when I was four or five (months old) and was completely immune. I then proceeded to do just about everything shy of licking the sweat off his head to get the disease; not because I wanted to get sick, but because I was convinced that I wouldn’t.

And you know what? I got sick.

Super sick.

Over the weekend (when, it turns out, medical centres are at their busiest with people hoping to avoid work) Mark and I competed to see who would cough up a lung or another vital organ first. Other fun activities included sweating, shivering and getting doped up on all kinds of pain killers, cold and flu capsules, cough syrups and honey-infused beverages.

With the weekend medical rush over, we managed to score a joint appointment at a local family practice. I’ll say that one more time for emphasis: we got a joint appointment. This means that the doctor examined us at the same time, in the same room. Awwwww….right? Isn’t that sweet, right? Who needs candle-lit dinners when you both get to have oversized paddle pop sticks thrust down your throats, right?

But if you’re a true romantic, here is the icing on the cake: not only did we get diagnosed with his and hers bronchitis but we fall into the 10% of people who get a bacterial bronchitis and got matching his and hers scripts for antibiotics. Did you smell the soft fragrance of rose petals dancing to the sound of a harp played by a unicorn when you read that last sentence? I know; how could you not? You’re only human.

Like so many love stories, however, this one has had a bitter-sweet ending. The antibiotics reminded Mark’s immune system that it’s not susceptible to diseases and now he’s going from strength to strength. Mine, on the other hand, has forgotten its Easter European roots and decided to let the antibiotics do all of the hard work, so I’m soon going to be facing bronchitis alone…