3-4-02, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
A Cold Makes Me Comatose
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
When it comes to
being sick, I'll admit that I am not the most stoic. Okay, so I am a total
weenie. It doesn't take a lot to set me back; a mere cold can render me nearly
comatose. My hubby, who sails through things like pneumonia while playing
soccer, doesn't understand that my I ability to cope with illness is not an act
on my part, but rather just a shortcoming by my body to rally to life's pains. I
WANT to "tough it up" and go on with life, despite whatever it is that
ails me; I just cannot.
Tuesday evening
I started to feel the beginnings of a sore throat. Another of my many downfalls
is that usually, no matter how great my suffering; I avoid the doctor's like the
plague. I don't like being weighed in public; I hate the idea of a virtual
stranger poking my body; and I most of all hate prescriptions, which usually
leave me feeling worse than the initial illness. As the evening went on, I
realized that this wasn't just any old sore throat. This was a humdinger of a
sore throat, and a niggling thought in the back of my mind told me that I needed
to get to the doctor
and get this looked at.
Drats. So the
next morning, bright and early, I was up on that scale. To my great joy and
happiness, I discovered that the doc's scale read about three pounds lighter
than mine at home, so that part wasn't too bad. The rest was routine, until the
nurse came back with the results of my throat culture.
"It's
positive." She announced.
So it was the
big "S"- strep throat; my first case. I knew I was probably in
trouble. I had seen my children through this illness numerous times, and they
always told me that their throats REALLY hurt, and their general lack of energy
always surprised me. Yikes. I felt worse immediately upon diagnosis. The doctor
prescribed an antibiotic, and since I am allergic to penicillin ("Too
bad," the nurse clucked, "we could have given you a big ole shot in
the hind end and you could have felt better in six hours.") I was
prescribed an alternative which has me taking two giant pills, four times a day,
for five days. Fantastic. But in the quest for better health......
I sailed through
day one of my illness with more than my usual stamina. I cooked a big dinner,
did the laundry, and even managed some laundry. But by evening, I was limping.
"It's time
for our run!" My husband announced.
"You've got
to be kidding me." I replied. "Do you know how cold it is out there?!
And did you forget....?" I shot him the evil eye, "that I have STREP
THROAT!? What are you trying to do, kill me?"
He went alone. I
managed to run a hot bath, put on my leopard jammies, and crawl into bed. Within
seconds, I was asleep, dreaming strange and curious dreams which I attributed to
the antibiotic.
When morning
arrived, my husband literally had to pull me out of bed. I felt like a truck had
run over my neck, and that perhaps my head was merely pretending to remain
attached to my body. My left ear pounded, my throat was on fire, and my skull
was ablaze with the kind of pain I had never before experienced. In short, I was
my usual sick self. I got everyone off to school and pondered the possibility of
productivity. There was no hope. I crawled into bed with a book and suffered
until I fitfully fell asleep; waking only periodically to wipe the drool off my
cheek, and to stuff another dose of antibiotics down my throat.
Miraculously, by
afternoon, I was a new woman. My formerly blazing throat was now just mildly
discomforting, and my headache had nearly dissipated. It was a miracle of epic
proportions! So pleased was I with my newfound health that I made the bed, did
the laundry and began to return to the productive life of the living.
My hubby, who
had called early in the morning to check on me, only to be met with the bad news
that I was pretty sure that A. I was dying, so get ready to take on the care of
the boys full time; and B. Everyone was going to catch this monster illness, so
realize that any scratch in his throat could mean this same awful fate for him,
called back after lunch to see if it was time to dig out my will.
"I am feeling better!" I chirped (well, not exactly 'chirped' but at
least I was no longer talking in my little scratchy voice).
I thought I
heard the receiver drop as his shock and surprise registered.
"Really?!" His relief was apparent. "That is pretty great
news!" I could hear him mentally sighing his relief that he would no longer
be single handedly responsible for getting our three boys to their various after
school activities.
I hung up the
phone and thanked my lucky stars that I, for once, had not been so resistant to
getting medical care, and went out to join the world of the living once again.