man flu with strange side effects. (Version 2).

God I feel hot where am I who are these people what are they saying? It's so bloody hot in here, why can't we open a window or something? Wait a minute I think someone is speaking to me, what are they saying? "You know Terry you really look as if you are one of us. You're nose is like mine and you talk in a similar way to Michael, are you sure you're not?" What is he saying am I here, am I really in this place with these people? Something feels not quite right about this, something is off. "Take a look in the mirror my friend, have a look go on you'll soon see the truth". What mirror where? As I turn I see a mirror, I see the Ron Moody portrait of the Fagin character from Oliver Twist staring and grinning back at me with his stooped back and ragged shawl. Then the realisation dawns on me that I am looking at myself. I'm shocked and at the same time assured that at last I know who I really am. I am he, I am that person looking back at me and although it is a shock at least I now know who I am and who my friends are.

I turn from these people and start to walk up the steps from this dark cellar bar, come nightclub. At the top of the stairs I open a door and walk into another room. In the corner sits an old woman she seems be knitting something. She looks up at me and holds up the knitting. "It'll soon be ready for you my dear". She says. I'm not worried by this gesture, in fact I feel quite comforted by it, as the thing that she's knitting looks like a hat, and a hat is just what I need right now to cover my vulnerable head. "Why have you got the cactus my dear? Why don't you take it out of you're mouth and give it to me?" I put my hand to my mouth and feel something hard and spiky, I realise I can't swallow or breathe, I start to choke and gag. What the Hell is going on here? I fall forward and as I do I wake up with a gasp, I had been dreaming and now I'm awake, at least I think I'm awake. I try to swallow and can't, it hurts me to swallow. I try to sit up and notice that I feel wet, I'm soaking, the sheets damp. Where am I, I look around and I'm in the dark. There is nothing familiar for me to relate to, am I still dreaming? Then I remember the people that were telling me to look in the mirror, I put my hand to my mouth, I feel my lips, I try to swallow again and it hurts like Hell.

I am now wide awake and am remembering that I went to bed early last night because I was feeling tired and unwell. My sheets are soaked in sweat so I know I have a fever and a sore throat. I then remember that I hate being sick and a depressive feeling comes over me. I know logically that this feeling may last a week or so, I know I will be alright soon. But this depression descends on me very quickly. I struggle to sit up in bed before I'm sucked too deep. It's as if all the times in my life that I've been sick have come rolling into the room with me, reminding me that I am a mere human being, frail and week and mortal just like everyone else. Death thoughts hover over me. Is this what it will be like as I die, will I feel like this? Because if I do then death will be a blessed relief. All the times I have ever thought of death, all the way back to six years old, lying in my little bed contemplating the fact that one day my mum and dad will leave me by dying, how sad that will be. Will I be able to survive without them? This same thought process led me to the realisation that I too someday must die. What a lot of information for the young mind to bear. But I know that we all have to bear this. I now know know that everything that is born must also die.

My rational mind tells me to stop being so morbid, but a deeper part of me knows that these things must at some point be considered by all of us. It's not as if I'm forcing myself to think of death it just seems to be making it's presence known to me. I then remember a time some 10 years earlier when confronted with death and the immanence of my own demise I imagined the 'Grim Reaper' sitting at the end of my bed. As he sat there I felt some sympathy for him, I suggested that his job was not a great one, that he must not be very welcomed wherever he went. He seemed to like this idea and we chatted for a while about living and dying. I knew that his presence was a huge thing but somehow he seemed like just another guy doing his job. He stood up and left the room eventually, but I knew one day he would be back and our next meeting might be a little more weighty.

As I lie there my rational mind takes more control of the situation. What about the Beechams powder, flu strength, that'll sort all this stuff out and I'll be ok then, I will be my old self again and back to the land of the living, as they say. I get up and stagger around a bit surprised by my weakened state. I wander into the other room and boil the ginger tea. I had hoped that this cold/flu would be driven away by lashings of garlic, Vitamin C and ginger tea, this remedy had worked well before. But I was getting the feeling that it wasn't going to work this time. I took out the flu strength and put it in the ginger tea. I went back to bed and slurped away feeling the warmth of the ginger and the healing power of the paracetamol doing it's best work. As I continued to become more rational I remembered my friend who happened to be jewish and a hypnotherapist. Maybe I could go see her and try to get to the bottom of my dream. But perhaps not: I may see something I don't want to see about myself! I'll just forget about the hypnotherapy for the time being. The drugs do their work and soon I feel much better. Well maybe I'm not so sick after all, maybe I'll be able to go to work tomorrow.