I am an unpleasant person when I am sick. I whine, I complain, and I am miserable to all those around me. A few weeks ago I came down with a cold, and mercifully it was short.
There are lots of people who can soldier on when they’re ill. You know the types: people who take some pills, have some tea and get on with life. My mom is one of those. On the rare occasions that she got sick, you’d never know it and the household kept rolling, tickety-boo.
My dad, on the other hand, worked in the emergency room of a major Toronto hospital for most of my childhood. He rarely got sick, but you knew it was bad when he did. If he was sick enough to utter the words “I’m not feeling well,” then by gosh, steer clear.
It’s about that time of year now when people start to get sniffly. The weather is changing, we’re all rundown and it seems like a long time until spring (especially with this recent dump of snow). Flu season is at its peak.
When I was little and off school for a day, my mom would pull the spare mattress out, spread it out on the living room floor and we’d watch movies all day. She’d also make me “pop n’ juice,” a mix of flat ginger ale and cranberry juice. I’m not sure why this revolting-sounding beverage made me feel better, but it did without fail.
When my dad would pick me up from school on the occasion that I couldn’t stick it out for the day, he’d take me to Tim Horton’s and always order the same thing: a ham sandwich and chicken noodle soup. Sandwich for him, soup for me, and if I started to rally after the soup, he’d share the donut with me. Then, of course, it was home to bed with temperature checks every hour and a brief lecture about handwashing procedure. Did I mention he worked in a hospital? A health care professional for a parent is alternately a terrible and wonderful thing.
My dad would often force Buckley’s on us when we got sick — the medication with that commercial, “It tastes awful and it works.” It does taste awful. I remember one instance, my brother and I were both sick, I was about nine years old, and my dad tried to give us the Buckley’s. In a rebellious moment, I told him I wasn’t going to take it unless he swallowed a spoonful too. He tried and failed, and my brother and I never had to take it again.
For a long time, it seemed as though most people were expected to show up for work while sick unless they were really and truly dying. But more and more of the research out there is suggesting that people should really stay home when sick, not just for themselves, but for their entire workplace. According to the Centre for Disease Control, you’re technically contagious as long as you have symptoms, and/or for 24 hours after your fever breaks.
Here’s a horrifying fact for you: the spray from a cough or sneeze can travel up to 20 feet, according to scientists at MIT. Please excuse me while I disinfect everything I own.
Cold and flu medications seem like an exercise in futility, I’ve never found ones that really work. But, there are a few things that seem to ease the pain, if only temporarily. Soup and tea, of course, but also plain pita bread and Werther’s candies. I know the latter does absolutely nothing to help as sugar is to be avoided while sick, but it gives me the illusion of feeling better and sometimes that’s just worth it.
The other thing that works is burying myself in my blankets and feeling sorry for myself. Am I dying? I probably have a fever. I want to eat but I’m not getting up. I want my mom. This is probably the most awful that anyone ever has ever felt, I think to myself. As I said, I’m not the stoic kind of sick. Thankfully, it happens infrequently – and I’m hoping not again this year.
What works for you when you get sick? Any idiosyncratic habits that make you feel just the tiniest bit better when it seems like nothing is ever going to work?