Well, I woke up on Monday with a scratchy throat and pressure in my ear. I immediately began taking Airborne, Zycam and Vitamin C tablets. I would not go down without a fight!

After class on Tuesday, I had to hurry back to Oakmont to get to Walgreens before it closed at 9pm. I made it and inquired of the very kind pharmacist what else I could take to relieve myself of the gunk I had acquired. He made a recommendation, and after signing my life away and promising NOT to make meth, I got a box of good ol’ Sudafed.

Yesterday was rough with lots of tissues and more of the above medications. I drank tons of water and tried to push through. I felt bad for my co-workers and classmates… I should have been in bed. But our society does not give respite to us often, so I did my best. I used hand sanitizer after each nose blow. I covered my mouth and tried to keep my distance.

I woke up this morning even worse and finally threw out the white flag. I will still go to class tonight, but my body will not be denied rest any longer. So here I sit, dosed up and keeping my germs to myself.  You’re welcome!

I remember sick days from when I was little. I used to lie on the couch and watch whatever was on daytime tv. In the 70s, that mostly mean soap operas. My mom made me cinnamon toast and tea. I remember one of the only times my dad ever brought me a coloring book (he did not approve of them, as he believed they thwarted creativity) was when I was home and sick.

As I got older and my mom was no longer home during the day, the rules for sick days changed. Because my mom is a nurse, we had to be pretty darn sick to miss school. But once she was gone to work, it was up to us. I would call and tell her I was sick. She would ask if I needed to stay home. If I did, she would say, “Don’t forget to write an excuse and sign it.” I was pretty good at signing her name, thanks to this! But because she trusted me, I rarely missed school. I did not want to let her down or take for granted how much she trusted me.

In college, I developed a pattern that continues today: when the weather changes, fall and spring, I get sick. That seems to be the only time, and no matter what I do, it happens. Except one time…

It was February of my junior year. I had returned to school and it was time for sorority rush. To say I was busy was quite the understatement. I had taken over duties of KD president earlier that year unexpectedly and was feeling the pressure of a heavy course-load. My usual cold turned nasty.

I woke up on a Saturday (or Sunday?) morning. I was supposed to be going to my shift as switchboard operator, but I couldn’t. Everything hurt. My throat was on fire. My head was pounding. I made my way up to Dot and Becky’s room and collapsed. It was all a fog. Somehow, they drove me to the infirmary. (Thank God Becky had a car!) I remember lying on the bed in the back room.

A quick note for those of you who did not attend Bethany College in the late 80s and early 90s: When we were sick, we would go to the infirmary. Nurse Sykes would generally give us salt to gargle, halls and tylenol.  That was pretty much it.

But this time was different. I don’t remember a doctor checking me, but was told one did. I don’t remember much beyond being put on drugs and put to bed. I missed class for a week. When I returned, one of my professors told me a memo had gone around (this was pre-internet days, ladies and gents) saying I had a serious bacterial infection and was to be excused from all classwork. (Obviously pre-HIPAA too, guys).

That was one of the worst illnesses I have ever had. Sure I’ve had other health issues, but that one illness was just awful. I remember talking to my mom on the phone. I guess the school had not notified my parents. When I called her Wednesday of that week, she was surprised at how sick I had been. She even regretted not coming to take care of me. She said that next time I got that sick, she would bring me home.

It’s okay mom, my KD sisters took really good care of me. They always did.

So on this sick day, I remember other sick days. And I hope that none are ever as rough as that one back in Bethany, 20-some years ago.