Being sick as a kid teaches you about afternoon TV game shows and soaps (for us Boomers), huge piles of Kleenex and how easy it is to coax up another round of vomiting if you've been doing it for three days straight. As for the Kleenex, my mother once came into the living room with an old towel and said, “You've blown through two boxes of Kleenex...they're pricey. Use this!” I was ok with it, a big giant SNOT towel. The terry clothe nap does a great job at absorbing it all.

The only weird memories I have being sick as a kid are the dreams I'd get, even more imaginative ones if I had a fever. 99% of them were forgotten as soon as I would awake but you knew how weird some of them were. The 1% never made any sense as they morphed from one subject to another in rapid succession. I'd wake up, think on it, forget it and go onto the next matinee that's going to play in my head. The only benefit of being sick as a kid is that no one expects anything from you except to stop pestering them for sympathy or requests. “You're sick not DYING!” my brother would say. That or “Ohhh...pooooor bebee” he'd torment me with.

As a teen it's still sort of the same but you are expected to nurse your own damn self. I had one sickness, now that I look back on it, that probably was pneumonia. I was coughing and sneezing pure wood glue traced with hot streaks of blood and felt like someone had beaten me with an ax handle. I gave my mother a bit of a shock once. I had got up from the couch to go the bathroom for something and I was wrapped up in a giant quilt because I was so cold. As I walked by her, she shot an amazed look at me. I didn't get it then but I came to realize my own Dad had worn the same quilt and walked by her, just as sick back in February '77. He ended up dropping dead at the kitchen table from bilateral pneumonia. Guess the deja vu for her was pretty intense.

A few days later, while rotting on the couch, my brother opined that perhaps, “I should take a shower or something” as all I did during the past few days was either space out on the couch or tried to remain unconscious in bed. I was too tired to eat, move or do anything else beside hack up that bloody wood glue.

“The last thing I want to do now is get WET” I told him. It was late November and this house was always drafty and though I could put the shower setting on “Boil,” getting out meant I'd evaporate in that chilly air and be even more miserable.

I wondered how I looked so I looked in the bathroom mirror. Ugh. Red crusty nose, lips with extra peeling skin, very greasy stringy hair...and I probably smelled like a dead goat but how could I tell? My nose was full of snot. I gave in and took the shower.

I froze like I knew I would later but did it only to shut the brother up.

I eventually got better though to my amazement I lost 6 pounds. The first day I walked to school I stepped outside into that freezing 6AM morning air and hacked my brains out. My lungs, being fairly cleared still weren't ready for that abrupt change in air. That was fun. The only thing facing me now was nearly a week's worth of school work I had missed.

Being sick as an adult? Oh great! Life's responsibilities don't take a break at all!

Matt, Rob, Mark and I ended up at Barn's apartment on Penn St by Atwells after class as we didn't want to drive home during a major snowstorm from RIC. To be honest, it was more of an excuse to get real drunk for free and crash at his place. We were already getting drunk in a classroom at RIC earlier in the afternoon. (We could get away with things like that then...we were SPECIAL!)

At Barn's place, I had noticed the back of my throat burning, then the sneezing came on and by the next morning, a full blown chest cold or flu. I'm not sure which one. Either way, I was a mess and felt miserable. It was time to head home so we got a ride from Barn and he dropped me off in front of Robert's Hall where my car was nicely plowed in. After a few minutes of digging I got it out and headed home, dreaming of a nice long nap to forget how shitty I felt.

So I get home and realize the driveway, sidewalks at my house are NOT shoveled. “FUCK!” I have to do this now while I'm sore and wretched. I get out of the car and start shoveling the Great Wall of China from the front of the driveway, all the time hacking and nearly losing my balance because I'm so out of it. I finally go into the house and there's Mom, with another list of things she needs done because she was snowed in and was too scared to drive at all. I say “Sure, in about 8 hours! After I sleep!” I thought digging the house out was enough for now and any additional requests can wait.

I peel off my wet, frozen jeans, the wet frozen boots and crawl into bed, lamenting ALL the crap I have to put up with AND being sick. Woe is me. Is there anyone I can sue in court was my attitude.

Yeah, right. Get used to it kid! As I got older, I replayed this show out countless times when sick. You drag yourself along till you can't and thee will be NO medals or parades for you either! Sick? Snotty? Coughing blood too? Fuck you! Get back into the trenches you!

Yesterday...

I haven't been sick in years, except for the occasional norovirus that's a gift to me because of the profession I'm in. But I must've caught something last week as it made it's appearance on Friday.

First was the copious snot I keep sneezing out. Well, that's odd. I haven't sneezed like that in years. Then the watery running snot that kept flowing. “Oh shit” I thought. “Don't go into my lungs! Don't go into my lungs!” I begged the virus. Too late, it had. Then came the ridiculous coughing that can made my face turn beet red and is kind of startling to anyone watching. Add to that, the old feeling of someone having beat me with an axe handle came back as well. Aaaa-CHOO! as I fire another rope of snot into those damned paper towels that rip up your nose if you use them 30 times in a row.

In my head I say: “Admit it kid...stop wishing it way, you ARE sick!”

As the day passed I kept getting queries from others, “Are you alright?” “No...but I will drag myself on” was my answer. Later on that night Red, comments: “I know you're HERE. You're doing the work...You've helped me too...but YOU have totally checked out! I can see it in your eyes!”

I tell here she's right. I HAVE checked out. When sick, disappearing from reality as much as I can is a coping tactic. Why be so Zen and “in the moment with the here and now” with the sickness? I'd rather be floating around Pluto and occasionally check in when need be. Which is what I did. Return to reality just enough times to keep things going safely is all that's needed.

Driving home and using the tried and true tactic for sickness I've always used, unconsciousness was my plan. I did a very good job at it too. I zonked out and stayed that way as long as I could.

I haven't been sick in a long while and I was kinda surprised at how it can beat the shit out of you. Then again, I was much younger then and being nearly 55 now, well...I guess things can wear on you a bit harder than usual? What I noticed was that although the body may be less adept at fighting it all, my mind isn't. It's plain pig headed, unreasonable stubbornness that keeps you going. It's what I've always done in my life to tell the truth when other more subtle tools won't work. If the scalpel wont' work, use the ball peen hammer!

I'm feeling a bit better today and by my side, is a nice snot TOWEL at the ready. Thanks Mom! Great idea if the Kleenex runs out!