I've had a cold for a week that made me so weak I had to get my husband, Glenn, to help me out of bed just to go to the bathroom, which is five steps away from my bed. How sick was I? I was so sick, I wished that my husband would come in to talk with me, but then realized it would be too hard to sustain conversation. For me, That's sick!

During my unpaid vacation I got room service, I was allowed to wear my pj's all day, and I got to watch TV when I finally felt up to it. I watched so much TV in the last week, I became discriminating. Not just on what was on, but the level of color on the tv. Have you ever noticed how dark Xfiles is? That show could grow mushrooms! Every scene is in some hollow sounding metal walled room, and it's dark with a green tinge. Why? Is it some glorious plan to turn us all into couch potatoes?

I wound up watching sports because…it was brighter, literally. Do you think the regular shows are saving money dimming lights, or buying low wattage bulbs? Football was also what my server wanted to watch and guilt forced me to watch the game while Glenn was in the room. Eventually, though the brightness of the show, the actual level of light was, well, easier to watch then what was on any other channel. The action was good. It was real. Of course, when the great big hulking football hero's kneecap was busted in slow motion for the fourth time, I got queasy. But the sports announcers must have gotten the word from upper management. Hey, even the non-flu fans were breaking out in sweats and gagging watching that replay. They quickly changed the subject and the screen was covered with numbers. They talked about anything else, till they could show the injured guy being taken off the field. When they finally flashed the camera on his face again, he looked like the pain was hitting and he was about to do the unthinkable and bawl like a baby. I felt for that jock watching him sweat and grimace as a very macho looking mini flat bed truck clunked his immobilized body passed the fans, like they were removing a fallen warrior, which they were. The sports announcers narrated his removal with "Yeah, that's gotta feel pretty bad knowing your career may be in the toilet and what you have to face next is long hours on the operating table." I felt bad for him. I felt like I had a buddy.

I wanted to die on Sunday night. The flu had me in its mean grip and I started thinking that if I peacefully hacked up my guts right then and there, it would feel better. I thought about what I had done in the last few years. I thought about the little successes I was able to achieve and the rightness of mind I felt following the path of my heart. I realized how lucky I was to be loved, and I decided like a warrior; it would be a good day to die.

I didn't. Because, as Glenn put it as I tearfully clutched his shoulder crying big, fat, baby tears, "but, You're not finished!"

We're not. We're still here and we're still in the game for now.