When Women Get Man Colds

Man Cold

Everyone, including Nyquil commercials jokingly refer to the “Man Cold” and how pitiful even the strongest of men becomes with a scratchy throat and unending mucus reserves. I want to say that I am not a hero when it comes to the jerk-hole symptoms of the Common Cold and Flu (because sometimes we just don’t know which one has us in its death grip). This act of un-heroism was never more evident than this past week when my whining surpassed that of a 2-year-old male toddler who missed his afternoon nap . . . for 3 days in a row. Sometimes you just want to slap them, but you can’t because they are only two, OR they are yourself.

In my defence, I had a rough week of sleeping and watching television, mixed in with ultrasound and blood screen appointments. It was just a nightmare. If the walking germ transporter and source of my illness (my 17mo old niece) wasn’t so darn cute and kissable, I would almost be disappointed in her choice of spray sneezing on my cell phone.

I have channeled any of my remaining energy into compiling these miserable text messages to my beloved.

I really did; it was oatmeal.

I really did; it was oatmeal.

Fever. . . now ultrasound bladder talk.

Fever. . . now ultrasound bladder talk.

Legit complaint: The tech hit a nerve in the first arm and she had to move the needle around like a merry go round to find some damn blood in the second.

Legit complaint: The tech hit a nerve in the first arm and she had to move the needle like a merry-go-round to find a vein in the second. I am either blood-less or she is just another person who isn’t meeting my low expectations of not sucking.

In my honest opinion? I peed myself.

In my honest opinion? It was pee.

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Lady Leisure’s ‘Spread the Laugh’ Series

Point

Share YOUR Story with Lady Leisure


Have a funny story about an unfortunate event that happened to you? Email ladyleisurelaughs@gmail.com and your story could be published on the blog for our following of strangers to read, laugh, point, and share with their buddies. Each week, Lady Leisure will choose a broad topic (or two). If you have a story relating to the topic in some fashion, submit it and it could be posted to the blog.

If your unfortunate tale doesn’t relate to the topic of the week and you’re desperate to share, send it in anyway! We will use your story, first name, and location unless you state you would prefer to remain anonymous. Please be aware Lady Leisure will not post anything TOO inappropriate or offensive, but sometimes the good stories are the inappropriate ones.

Spread the Laugh, encourage your friends to do the same, and we’ll all be slapping our knees for weeks to come!

This week’s topics are: “Labour Day” and “School”.

Lady Leisure’s Brush with Death

One of the stickers stuck on me for an experimental Frankenstein procedure.

One of the stickers stuck on me for an experimental Frankenstein procedure.

Approximately three weeks ago, I was slaughtering my 7lb 10oz zucchini with the food processor to subsequently bake some deadly double chocolate zucchini cake, when I suddenly felt hungry. This was the kind of hunger that puts a pregnant woman into a deep desperation. When I say it was sudden onset I mean one second I was whistling, and the next I was “HANGRY”. I switched tasks in order to make myself a sandwich. As my desperation grew, my stomach lurched, and my world began falling apart into dark, fuzzy dots.

I thought to myself, “SHIT, I’m going down.”

I crawled to the toilet to potentially vomit or have a bowel movement (whichever came first; I was not prepared for simultaneous explosions).

 “This is it: the end. People who pass away usually throw up and shit their pants as they die.”

I became increasingly confused and felt as though I was seconds away from passing out, so I called Jack. I can’t remember our conversation other than saying I felt weird and needed help. He was an hour away and could not be my knight in shining armour, so he stressed the necessity that we hang up so he could call an ambulance.

“10-4.”

As quickly as my medical emergency developed, it unfolded and faded into the past. I Googled “fainting what to do” and I slid out to the living room and laid down on my LEFT side. I then got a call from a 9-1-1 dispatcher.

Dispatcher: “Your husband has called you an ambulance; how are you feeling?”

Lady Leisure: “Oh, you can cancel that. I’m feeling fine, thanks.”

Dispatcher: “Ma’am, the ambulance has already been dispatched and I’m told they are on their way.”

Lady Leisure: “Well the thing is, I don’t have insurance and I don’t want to pay for an ambulance.”

Dispatcher: “I don’t know much about that, but you should allow them to at least check you out and you can decide whether they take you for a ride or not.”

Lady Leisure: (Reluctantly) “Fine.”

The dispatcher and I had a grand ol’ time as we awaited the arrival of EMS. I tried to get her off the phone so we could free up the line for a “real emergency”, but she refused my logic.

The paramedic and EMT took my blood pressure, temperature, pricked my finger, and stuck stickers on my arms and legs like I was some sort of pin cushion or first aid manikin experiment.

The verdict? Low blood pressure and sugar. I am anxiously awaiting the invoice for a diagnosis in which a confused, half dead pregnant woman had figured out on her own for free. This baby’s a REAL d!ck.