Originally published in On Our Selection News, August 13, 2016

Sick days aren’t as fun as they used to be.

If you were like me as a child, you would have liked Maggi two-minute noodle sandwiches, had an unhealthy obsession with the Olsen twins and you would have tried to chuck a lot of sickies.

The idea of staying home while you’re supposed to be doing other things was so exciting. You could do anything you wanted. You could watch those educational entertainment programs on ABC and then play with Barbies and maybe even go grocery shopping with Mum.

And if you were actually sick, you got so much attention. In a family of three other girls, this was important. Because the limelight generally had to be shared, as did toys, bedrooms and, sometimes, seatbelts (but only for the skinnier of the siblings – so thankfully I was spared. Although I also like to reason that I was a much more valuable child, and therefore deserved the bare minimum of state road safety considerations, otherwise known as my own seatbelt). And as the third child out of four, I even had to share being the middle child. So any little morsel of extra attention tossed out by our parents like table scraps out the back door was snapped up quickly by the metaphorical stray dogs we were.

Once, both my eardrums burst simultaneously. Between doses of painkillers, my mother had to literally hold me down on to the bed while I flailed about, screaming in agony like a child possessed. I had quite meaty limbs and the diaphragm of an opera singer by that time, so this would have been quite an ordeal for my poor mother. But I was the focus of the household at the time, so it was worth it. Sure, I may never be allowed to scuba dive, but at least it got me a solid week’s worth of airtime.

Unfortunately, as an adult, sick days have lost their appeal. Because as a child all you had to worry about was the Friday spelling test. If you missed out, it wasn’t a big deal because you only needed to master the words that were in Harry Potter to get by. But now, you have things to do. Documents to type, forms to submit, etc.

I like to get things done. And by “get things done” I don’t mean, “spend five minutes coughing up a single clump of infection”. I spent the last three days napping. That may sounds delightful to some, but I’ve hated every minute of it. I planned on filing my tax return and then researching frivolous items I could spend said tax return on. I planned on making pumpkin pie. I had several unimportant magazines to buy. And I planned on writing this down in my diary and highlighting it in the appropriate colour. But was unable to do any of this because of a little case of bronchitis.

And let’s not forget about the #gainz that have been lost while I’ve been too tired to stand. I’ve missed numerous gym classes and therefore am going to have a sloppy rig to deal with.

But the worst part about adult sick days is fact that you have to fish for attention. Because we all assume adults can take care of themselves accordingly, or let hospital staff do it for them if it’s really serious. Now the attention from being sick doesn’t come easy. You have to ask for it. It’s the fourth day I’ve endured symptoms, and I’ve already sent out at least five snapchats, two texts, and had one phone call with Mum. Maybe I just need human contact, a hug. But I offered the dial-a-doctor a handshake and he, quite wisely, declined.

Update: two weeks later and I’m not only still trying to shake the snot, but I also have conjunctivitis.