Death plague

Being laid up in bed for two days straight with the death plague can really make one re-evaluate their life.

When you're that sick, you have no dignity. When you send your professor a tearful e-mail panicking because you're going to miss a test and your health has been poor, resulting in you missing more classes than you'd like; when all you can do is lay in bed and cry because it feels like your body is being ripped apart; when you're in and out of consciousness, interspersed with hallucinations and wondering if the voices you're hearing are really your roommates or if it's all in your head, there is no such thing as dignity.

Okay, so I had a bad bout of the flu. Nothing to panic over. At least, nothing for a normal person to panic over.

I have extreme anxiety issues, and when I get too stressed, my immune system goes bye-bye. This phenomenon was exacerbated recently because I'm now forbidden to get an annual flu shot, due to the fact that the last time I did, I wound up in the hospital with the muscles in my legs and arms shutting down. So now, it's either death plague or hospital. I can't decide which one is more thrilling.

The moral of the story: I've spent the last two days in a haze of terror that I was going to die. I HAVEN'T spent the last few days thinking about my transition in any way, shape, or form. Yeah. I have real people issues, too.