A few weeks ago, I had the flu.
It wasn't the bad one, with the hacking and coughing, but the one with the fever and feeling comatose for about two weeks. I also didn't want to eat. I ate because I needed to. You stop eating, you die- it's a survival thing. I liked living, so I ate- but only when I had to.
Last week, I had a doc's appointment. This is the part where they weigh me and shake their heads as they write that nasty three-digit number on my chart. But this time the number was significantly smaller.
Fourteen pounds smaller.
This is quite uncommon for me. I never lose weight when I'm sick. Ever. In fact, most times I gain weight. I've been seeing a nutritionist and I've been behaving myself concerning portions and food, so that might factor in some of this weight loss, but I'm sure barely eating for two weeks has a little something to do with it too.
I was ecstatic!
When the intern came in and looked at my chart, we discussed what was going on. As soon as he heard I'd had the flu, the first question he asked was "Do I want a flu shot?"
I gaped at him, incredulous. "Are you kidding? Absolutely not!"
"Do you want to get sick again?" He asked.
I replied, "Dude, I lost fourteen pounds! What do you think?"
He just smiled and shook his head, making notes in my file.
I really don't want to get sick again (and I don't do flu shots anyway), but he didn't need to know that...right?
All in all, getting the flu was a good thing. I learned that I can survive on a lot less food that I thought, and portion control is no longer an issue. I even went to a buffet for a party the other day and had one plate. One. This was a buffet, people. An all-you-can-eat extravaganza of shrimp, steak, and roast beef, and I had a single plateful. I was satisfied, and I stopped eating. I was very proud of myself.
Maybe getting the flu wasn't so bad after all!