I knew for sure that I had an unwelcome visitor on Saturday. I’d heard the quiet knocking every morning for days, but tried to pretend it wasn’t coming: I went to bed early, but soon sleep started to elude me; I woke daily with a tickle in the back of my throat. By Saturday there was no ignoring the visitor: the virus had arrived.

“I think I’m sick,” I croaked at my spouse, as if my voice and the circles under my bleary eyes didn’t make this obvious.

“I think you are,” he replied, and set me on the couch to recuperate.

We’ve had viruses visit before, of course. Mostly we greet them with tea and honey; we entertain them with ridiculous series on Netflix or long cuddles with good books; always, we like to offer them plenty of rest. This satisfies most viruses. After a day or two, they thank us politely and move on, sometimes leaving behind a bit of a mess, but nothing that we can’t handle if we’re cautious.

This virus though, the one that came on Saturday, this one has overstayed its welcome. I tried to coddle it over the weekend, hoping that it would be willing to move on by Monday morning, but no. Instead, the virus – which had initially taken up residence in my throat – decided that it was too confined and expanded into my lungs and my sinuses. There, it stretched out. “Ah… just what I needed: more space.” It took a particular liking to my lungs and hung out there, making it hard for me to breathe.

So, I took the virus to the doctor’s office where we tried to take a picture of it, but it was shy and hid from the x-ray. “Well,” said the doctor, “at least it’s not Pneumonia. She always overstays her welcome – a real hanger-on, that one.” Pneumonia has visited both me and my spouse, so I knew exactly what the doctor meant. She is a terrible guest. “Still,” the doctor continued, “there are some truly ill-mannered viruses going around right now. This one may stay for days.”

I nodded my head, but I didn’t believe her. I know how to deal with a virus, and I don’t get sick very often. I wheezed my way home and curled up on my couch. I played puzzle games with my virus and watched lots of bad TV. We downloaded a mindless game app and played for hours. We drank unending pots of tea with honey. We knit, pet the dog and took naps. Still, the virus stayed. It fiddled with the thermostat, so I tried to help it get comfortable with some ibuprofen. Then, ungrateful, it spent Monday evening painting my throat bright red. “Much better,” it squealed. After that, it yelled at me whenever I swallowed, “You’re ruining the paint job!”

Every afternoon, I checked in with my virus. “Maybe you could leave tomorrow?” I asked. The virus laughed, and watched me write increasingly tearful emails to the vice principal, telling her that I needed to be out yet again. Last night, as I created the fifth day of lesson plans, the virus was not even remotely helpful. In fact, it laughed even harder and said, “I *might* leave tomorrow, but I’m just not sure yet. Maybe you should go in just to see what I do.” I’d gotten wise to it, though. I knew that it just wanted to stay longer, so I called in sick and sent the (now pretty pathetic) lesson plans.

Today is the seventh day of the virus’s visit. I’ve told it that my spouse and I don’t typically welcome guests for more than a week without consulting with one another, so it is reluctantly packing up. The paint job it had so delighted in has largely faded, and it’s moved into a smaller space, mostly in my throat. I’ve offered it more tea and sleep, but I think it’s starting to crave something different, hopefully something it can’t find in this house. By Monday, this unwelcome visitor should be gone, and I should be back to work. Fingers crossed.