It was bound to happen: I shook so many hands my first week back to work who knows where I picked up the latest bug. All I know is I came home on Monday (after driving right past the street where I have lived for the past seven years, yeah it was that bad) and felt like I had been hit by a mack truck, then a steamroller, then trampled on by a parade of pain — or as my father would say, “I felt like hammered poo-poo.”
This article appears in Mar 10-16, 2010.