I rarely get sick. I often lord this fact over McIrish, telling him I have the immune system of a Greek god (Apollo…I always thought he was the coolest with that sun-chariot and the pretty horsies). Recently, McIrish got the dreaded Man Cold, the worst affliction that can hit a male human. He blamed it on the airplane. I pointed out that I too was on the airplane, and look at me! Completely! Healthy! Because I have the immune system of a Greek god! He merely raised an eyebrow and blew his nose.
The thing is, though I am seldom sick, I nevertheless diagnose myself with terrible illnesses all the time. The Internet backs me up on everything. I have symptoms of every ailment known to mankind and often tell McIrish that I’m positive I have Ebola/leprosy/exploding head syndrome (look it up, it’s cool!). When we flew to Australia recently, I was sure I felt a blood clot developing in both legs. Every time they mention the Luckiest Man speech, I’m quite sure I have ALS. I palpate different body parts and swear I felt something weird (it’s usually a jelly bean or M&M stuck in my bra). I often voice the opinion that I should be put into a medically induced coma or get some anesthesia adminstered, stat, because I can’t fall asleep. I believe this is called medical students disease. Though I am not a medical student, I spent most of my youth believing I’d be a doctor (that pesky med school for four years/need to pass your math classes thing completely ruined my plans).
So I play Name that Disease instead. Interestingly, my family still turns to me as a medical authority. Guess I’m doing something right.