Sick Baby Syndrome

I loved being sick as a kid. It meant holing up in my parents’ huge bed while they were at work, full control of the TV remote and meals in bed.

And best of all, it meant endless attention given to my infinite grimaces, moans and whines. A deep sigh was sure to bring a kiss on the forehead. A loud enough cough earned me another day at home watching “Brady Bunch” reruns and “The Price Is Right.”

If you can handle the occasional puke session, getting sick as a kid is a pretty sweet deal. As an adult, getting sick stinks!

Now that I’m an adult, the first few days of any new ailment are inevitably spent sucking it up at the office. I lie to myself, force myself to forget the last time I went to work sick, telling myself that this time my work friends will help me heal.

Wrong! Suddenly, the folks whom I spend more time with than my own family — the folks whom I gab with, grab lunch with, make impressions of my boss with — treat me like a leper.

“You’re sick?” a co-worker will ask as I wipe my runny nose. I will look up at my work friend, doe eyes filled with hope, thinking maybe this friend will take care of me, baby me.

“Yeah.”

“Ew. Then stay away from me.”

All those years of being in the trenches together are over with a single sneeze. No one puts his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. No one offers to rub vapor rub on my chest. Sure, that might be cause for a sexual harassment lawsuit, but I’m sick, goshdang it! And it would be nice if someone offered.

Once my work buddies let me down, I end up doing everyone a favor and take the next few days off work. But even staying at home isn’t nearly so cool as it was as a kid.