“Only old people get flu shots!” How many times have I said that to well-meaning doctors and friends? (Answer: I don’t remember BECA– USE I’M OLD!) So Friday, when my stomach shut down, I figured it must be an intestinal blockage. It was, but that’s beside the point that I never considered the flu as a possibility.

Saturday, when the tickle in my throat became a cough; the floor started buckling under my feet as I crossed the room; and I collapsed panting and sweating after tying my shoes, obviously, the blockage had turned into septic shock. I tried to remember if I told Dave the location of my Last Will and Testament.

Sunday I went to the doctor.

His diagnosis: “You should have gotten a flu shot, ya’ putz! Oh, and you need to clear that blockage.”

Since I had spent my first 48 hours in denial, it was too late to start an antiviral medication. That left me with the horrifying prospect of toughing out the flu, and removing twenty pounds of impacted poo from my colon. Honestly, if untreated this can be a life-threatening situation. There was no way in hell that I was going to let my death certificate read: cause of death – constipation.

Now you must understand that lesser men have cracked under the pressure of the kind of torture I was facing. The process involved drinking some gacky tasting concoction, then becoming intimately acquainted with lubricated tips. Lather, rinse, repeat until either the blockage is cleared, or you’ve given away the position of the U.S. nuclear submarine fleet.

I’m happy to say that I’m starting out the new year with a sparkling clean colon, without compromising national security. I’ll be out of work until next week. My coworkers didn’t want me touching their stuff with my influenza-riddled paws. Way to use up my 2014 sick leave before the ball finishes dropping!

This year I resolve to blog more, get plenty of fiber in my diet, and swallow my pride and get a flu shot. Just in case, I’m still well stocked with lubricated tips.