Dear Immune System,

Your time is up, and I am not pleased.

I first got this disease on Friday, five days ago today. It started with frequent trips to the bathroom and angry bowels. Then it got better the next morning of its own accord, and I thought that my brief excursion into sickness was done with.

So on Saturday I had a nice big meal. Too big, in fact, since I ended up with my belly so full that it hurt. But it still felt kinda good, after having been sick the day previously. But then the bathroom trips started again. And didn’t stop.

Sunday was spent entirely either in the bathroom or trying to sleep, in the vain hope that sleep would transport me into a disease-free future. I was rewarded in the evening with a fever.

Yes, body, I know that a fever is supposed to kill off whatever is attacking my insides (or whatever you have perceived to be attacking my insides), so why was it mild, and why was it gone the following morning, after accomplishing absolutely nothing? And it hasn’t come back, even last night when I was having even more frequent trips to el baño. What was the point?

And today I woke up and thought, “ah, it’s all over.” Since all I had was a slight belly ache. But as the morning went on it began to feel like someone had punched me oh-so-gently in the gut. Then I had a delicious meal and, before I could say “Not again!” it started again. The bathroom trips, I mean.

So to my innate immune system: I know you’re doing the best that you can with what you’ve got. You’re static, so really what more can I ask for?

But to my adaptive immune system: WTF? Now, I know you are one of the most amazing achievements of evolution, but seriously, can’t you just be a little more amazing? Perhaps you could work twice as fast, or fight twice as hard. I’d happily eat more to give you the spare parts and chemical energy. Or sacrifice some of my body fat for the task. Or muscle, even.

I know that’s too much to ask, since you’re fighting blind and quite randomly, which is why I have forsaken you and moved on to good old man-made drugs (all the cool kids are doing it). I’ve already lost a 6th of my trip to your taking of your sweet ass-time (yes, that is hyphenated correctly), and I am now cheating on you with generic, OTC, Mexican-made Cipro.

Now, adaptive immune system, this doesn’t mean I don’t love you and appreciate what you do, but when I’m on a deadline you just aren’t good enough. I’m sorry. I welcome you back as soon as the Cipro is done working (especially since I won’t have any gut flora left for defense).

Your Frustrated but Loving Counterparts,

The Higher Lobes

Or, the Ones That have to Perceive the suffering you’re supposed to be alleviating.

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