Dear influenza,
I’m going to come right out and say it. I don’t like you.
I’m a nice guy, as most people will tell you. I don’t fight
with consultants, I pick up shifts for colleagues in need and I take the extra
5 minutes to explain to new parents what is normal for a neonate or that their
palpitations are common and benign.
But having been struck down by your might this weekend, I have had time
to ponder about the life you live and the havoc you wreak upon your victims.
And I thought you should know how I really feel about you:
I don’t like you.
I don’t care if you’re a type A or B, or what number comes
after your H or after your N.
I think it’s vile and perverse that you sleep around with
pigs and birds and then smudge us humans with your filth.
I think you’re a coward for being generally benign except
when a pregnant woman, infant or elderly person crosses your path, at which
point you deliver your rabbit punch. Bully.
I think it’s inconsiderate how you show up in full force
during the Christmas holidays, filling my ED and hospital wards while so many
of the walk-ins and family doctors' offices are closed. Sick patients wait
longer because of you.
I barely eat on shift on a regular day, but when you’re around I have even less time and whatever I do
eat tastes like sanitizer gel from all the compulsive hand washing I do.
I hate you for making me get chest x-rays on people who
probably don’t need them, fearing that I may miss the complicated Staph
pneumonia that rides shotgun with you.
I hate your deception. Why do you evade our best efforts at
vaccines? Can’t you be like the H. flu and let us make a better vaccine?
Eighty percent is okay, but we can do better.
Speaking of vaccines, I hate how you encourage public fear
like this BS from
2009.
I can deal with fevers, coughs and myalgias but when you
take me away from my wife and child when I finally have a weekend off, you
cross the line. I’ve been quarantined and placed on isolation in my own home.
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