Man flu - or is it just men being too melodramatic?

Man flu- or is it men being melodramatic?

Oh no, it had to happen! Sooner or later it just arrived without any adequate warning. It might have told me it was coming. But, unexpectedly, it got here and is now working its way through my fragile defences. Men, hey. It can confidently be said that I have Man Flu, a condition best treated with long periods of isolation, privacy, complete detachment from everybody and everything and seclusion in a room as far away from family and friends as it's possible to be. Then you can pile on the self pity, the woe is me syndrome, the discomfort , the social awkwardness and a tendency to refrain from any kind of talking to anybody because you can hardly stand up let alone speak.

So here's the story so far. During the last week there has been a gradual deterioration in my health, a sharp decline into a world of violent coughing, a general sense of panic and disorientation, a sudden realisation that the whole dreaded scenario has just recurred without my permission. But oh no I won't give in! Never in a million years. I refuse to be subjected to daytime TV and I have neither the desire or inclination to watch endless programmes about property auctions. I'd much rather analyse the floral patterns of our wallpaper or just sleep the day away, reading, listening to 1970s music and then gazing at the scaffolding opposite us where what looks like the word IN has been prominently inscribed on the front of the block of flats.

What I think the last couple of days has taught me is that we're much stronger and more resourceful than we think we are. The last couple of days have, admittedly, been exhausting, draining and totally debilitating. The ordinary cough I normally get late at night seemed to get progressively worse as the days have passed and no matter how hard you cough and how frustrating this illness has now become you always feel as though it'll never come to an end and it's your fault. I try to avoid self reproach but there comes a point when even the act of lying down on your bed becomes a military operation. You bury your head in your hands, look around you and wonder if the wintry dose of coughs and colds will ever go away.

Let me tell you straight away that I've now ruled out completely the precise nature of my illness. It's neither pleurisy, yellow fever, jaundice nor is it the return of the Bubonic Plague. Neither has it been diagnosed as malaria or diphtheria or impetigo because I'm not sure how much more my ageing body could take for something so drastically unbearable and besides most of the above can only be caught in the exotic Far East and they can be treated. But time to move on as they say. There can be no point in being accused of hypochondria for that can only lead to moping moroseness and depression which are just counter productive emotions.

Still there was I last night with my lovely wife at Accident and Emergency coughing and spluttering, desperately clinging on for sheer life. It should be pointed out that of course I had a plentiful supply of handkerchiefs to protect the other walking wounded from catching something far worse. Then most surprisingly I was seen almost immediately which did come as a pleasant surprise. All of the doctors and receptionists were pleasantly friendly, welcoming and splendidly helpful. Wherever you looked there were warm smiles, lots of support, care and co-operation and a real sense of pastoral care.

We were taken into a private room where the regulation tests were carried out and I was diagnosed with a viral infection which had nothing to  do with a chest infection but wasn't considered worthy of a spell in a hospital. All of the vital organs, my right and left ventricles were in good order, the heart was pumping away in the most exhilarating fashion, the lymphatic glands were in good nick, the blood vessels were in the most impeccable condition, the liver and kidneys were doing what they've always done since birth and the right shoulder bone was still connected to the left shoulder bone. The rectum and sternum are in fine fettle and I'm in the rudest health. Oh and I mustn't forget those tendons and joints, those vital veins and arteries which keep everything ticking over efficiently because if they go wrong then you're in trouble. But our health is our wealth and if things do go wrong none of us should underestimate our glorious National Health Service.

January is now drawing to a close and it is no coincidence that the violent coughing bouts I had at roughly the same time last year, have come back to darken my corridor again. The difference this time is that I seem to have caught this virus towards the end of January as opposed to the beginning of it. Do you think my body is playing tricks or indulging in some psychological game whereby I have to guess when the virus will strike?

But, according to whatever medical dictionary you may have, it's safe to say that I've got  Man Flu. Yes it's time to make my announcement to the entire female population. Men are just impossible, totally convinced that there's something distressingly wrong with them because men haven't a clue how to handle the severity of any pain. Men are just biologically programmed to believe that they've got something that may last for the rest of the year without thinking that it's just a bad cold and nothing that a good old fashioned mug of honey or lemon or Paracetamol won't cure overnight.

At the moment all of the muscles in my body are privately aching and crying, weeping and wailing, desperate for some kind of reprieve. The energy I still had in abundant reserve a couple of weeks ago has now taken itself off to Tenerife and won't be back until they're fully rested and ready to run another marathon.

I did get dressed briefly a couple of days ago but then it hit me like a wall. From deep within my now besieged diaphragm, a huge cough began to gather in momentum. Before I knew it, the lungs were in fully rebellious mood and the rib cage was on the point of a massive explosion. No matter how hard I tried to shake off this state of inexplicable agitation the throat was completely blocked and the chest was stubbornly resisting my every attempt to clear itself. It felt like sheer torture but by early morning I felt as if I'd just finished one of those American high school dance marathons which last all night.

Now of course it's simply a case of Mother Nature taking its course but that almost begins to sound a well worn cliche. For men the pain threshold is something that can never be compared to women. Of course men are acutely aware of the trials and tribulations of pregnancy and will never know anything about the excruciating pains and agonies of birth. But what do you do when the simple act of lying on the pillow becomes a hellish exercise persistently preventing you from getting your head down for the night?

So there you are. That's my latest medical bulletin. My physical movements are still restricted and all I want to do is get a good night's sleep because that's what I crave so deeply. This virus, whatever its origin, is like a dark cloud hovering over a rooftop. I'm surrounded by a packet of cough sweets, boxes of handkerchiefs, glasses of water, pills, potions and all the medical paraphernalia you would normally associate with viral infections, flus or whatever it is I've got. It's time to wipe the sweat from my fevered brow, apologise for suffering from Man Flu, just keep calm and continue to watch Sky football.