Man-flu is a terrible sentence for the sufferer - but it can often be hardest for your nearest and dearest

My wife would be in a total state when she heard the news, but when I told her she seemed strangely unconcerned

Dom Joly
Saturday 19 December 2015 22:48 GMT
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I am sorry to inform my loyal readers that I am ill: very, very ill. Doctors are unsure as to how long I have but nobody was looking optimistic. As in the movies, everything rather accelerates into perspective when a physician tells you something like this. Your life flashes before you. You think of the things you’ve done and, more importantly, all the things that you haven’t.

I am only 39 years old (according to Wikipedia) and it seems like those years have been but minutes. Just 40 minutes or so ago I was brought into this world in a French hospital in downtown Beirut. Now I’m to shuffle off before I even get the opportunity to enjoy a Trump presidency.

The doctor was kind but I could see that he was nervous. I’d been feeling under the weather for a couple of days and was finally forced to make an appointment by my wife who is very much from the “pull your socks up” school of medicine. The doctor listened to my chest, nodded at my symptoms, and then delivered the verdict with impressive stoicism.

“It’s flu.” His voice didn’t quiver for a second. He was a health professional honouring his Hippocratic oath. “There’s a lot of it about,” he continued. “Best you drink lots of liquids, get some rest and maybe some Lemsip.”

He said it in such a matter of fact manner, almost detached, and I presumed that this was how he had trained himself to deliver this sort of life-changing news. At this shattering moment for me, I found myself feeling sorry for him. We humans are a curious but glorious species.

“How long have I got?” I gulped and my sore throat hurt.

“Four, five days, maybe… there’s a lot of it about at the moment.” The doctor was looking away, indicating that our appointment was over. I presumed he would let his true emotions show when I was out of the room. They’re trained for this but you can’t help but admire a man like that.

It took an age to get home. I drove slowly as I tried to work out what and how to tell my wife. The doctor had been very clear: “Lie around all day and rest. Get someone to look after you.” My wife would be in a total state when she heard the news. She has come to rely on me greatly and I worried about what she would do without me. I decided that I would try to bother her as little as possible as she went about her house duties. I remembered that I had the entire seven seasons of The Sopranos on a box-set. Was there time for all 86 shows? Whatever, I had to try.

Once home I broke the news to my wife. She seemed strangely unconcerned. Possibly she couldn’t process the enormity of the news. Man-flu is a terrible sentence for the sufferer but it can often be hardest for your nearest and dearest. I lay on the sofa and fired up The Sopranos. I quietly shouted for Stacey to bring me a Lemsip and maybe some toast? The look she gave me when she came in said it all – love is the greatest healer.

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