I only take sick days when forced to do so.

Turns out New Boss is a germophobe. He took one look at me today and sent me home early so he could disinfect the entire office. 

I have a cold*. 

Mum thinks I should got to the doctor. She thinks I need bed rest, and soup, and liquids, and Lucozade (BLEEEHH!). After many many years of my covering up various illnesses, she has finally cottoned on to my system. 

*Mum's Mich-Health-Guide:

• "I'm fine" = Could be covering up anything from the common cold to ebola, or perhaps broken bones. 
• "I think I might be getting a cold"/"I just have the sniffles" = Mich has a really bad cold, and it is headed directly for her chest. 
• "It's just a cold." = Mich has most likely got bronchitis, or walking pneumonia; and she will need to be either sedated or knocked unconscious in order to get it treated. 
• "I feel a bit fatigued." = Mich shall spend the next 24-48 hours vomiting until she collapses, due to either a stomach bug or a hangover. 
• "I have slight heartburn." = Mich is in such digestive agony you wouldn't believe it.
• "I think maybe I should go to the doctor..." = Mich has contracted something extremely severe, such as tuberculosis, and she may drop dead at any time. 

If there's an opposite to hypochondria, then I've got it. My body makes it easy to cover up illnesses--I run at an average temperature of 96.4 degrees F. So for me, 98.6 is a fever. But I can pass it off as normal, even to medical professionals. I don't get fevers often. Last time I had one, it went up to 101.9 and I had actually reached the "I think maybe I should see a doctor" stage before I started talking nonsense and hallucinating, and my roommates called an ambulance. I have no memory of this, or of being taken to the hospital, but my roommates later told me that I flat out refused to get near the ambulance, threatened the EMT's with bodily harm, and then I walked 7 blocks to the hospital. In the middle of January. 

But I think the best example comes from last January. On December 31, 2009, I slipped on the ice in the driveway and walloped my head and arm on the pavement. Despite possible injuries, I just got up, brushed myself off, and went about my merry way. 2 weeks later my arm still kind of hurt, so I went to the doctor. Turns out my arm was broken. (Luckily for me, it was healing ok on its own, so I didn't even need a cast or anything.)

At this point Dr. S can only shake his head and try to tell me to take it easy. On the x-ray, he pointed out where you could see that my wrist had also been broken at some point in the distant past, though it had obviously healed ok (who knew?). And if he has access to my medical records from before he became my doc, then he probably knows that several broken ankles have also gone untreated. He thinks I may have some kind of nerve problem. It's quite possible, as I'm constantly injuring myself (mostly cooking-related cuts and burns) without even noticing. 

But half a day off = more time to exercise! Bronchitis Head cold be damned. :)