Cold Season

By the time the sore throat made itself present Thursday, it was too late: the sneezing erupted and the faucet began to run. At the end of day one, a full box of Puffs was in the trash can, emptied so the germs could not invade the classroom and encourage the cold to stick around one day longer than necessary.

My eyes were swollen, my throat raw, and my nose would not stop running! No matter how often I blew out the offensive disease-laden snot, there was more right behind that tissue full. I blew, coughed, sneezed, and blew some more through one box of Puffs, and found myself opening box two in the car on my way to teach my night class.

I’m not sure how I made it until 8 pm, but that was the extent of my endurance, so I let the class go and told them to check with me on-line if they had questions and/or needed response to their essay drafts. I drove home, not quite sure if I would make it without stopping to take a quick nap, and had myself into jammies and under the covers within five minutes of parking the car.

I was so cold—and burning up with fever—which kept me throwing off the covers to cool off and grabbing them mummy-style to warm back up. The sheets were wet with sweat, but I continued to force fluids throughout the night, somehow believing that I could beat the cold off with mental fortitude.

Day two was awful because it was spent at work. When the kids walked in the door, they immediately told me I looked awful and kept a respectful distance for the remainder of the class period. It was a challenge to get through the opening remarks necessary to explain the day’s plan, prior to tactfully retreating to an isolated corner of the room I optimistically call my “office.” My face was swelling, a reaction I have every time there is fever present because I have a low natural body temp; therefore, when my temp goes up to 100º, it means I am really, totally, irrevocably sick. Confirmation comes with the fever blisters that begin between the lip and nostrils, and then spread in every direction.

Day three was spent in bed, commencing with arrival back home day two from work around 4 pm. I remember taking off my clothes and bundling my shivering self back up in my blankies, but not much else of yesterday. I know I drank as much liquid as my body could contain, but don’t remember peeing much of it back out. The sheets were clammy from sweating, but I could not crawl out from under the blankets without becoming fiercely cold almost immediately. I was dizzy, but not sick: a cold is so nasty because if you truly felt as bad as the symptoms others see, it would be easier just to check in to the hospital and let someone else deal with it.

Today is day four, and the worst part of today is that I’m not sick enough to be in bed, but sure as heck aren’t well enough not to be. It makes for one long day, especially when I had to strip the bed and wash from the mattress pad to the bedspread—attacking those killer germs so they don’t get too comfortable and come back during the night. I’ve been drinking everything I can find, and even spent 20 minutes squeezing fresh oranges so the vitamin C could taste good, rather than swallowing another pill. My lips are swollen to Angelina proportions, and the fiery redness around my mouth and nostrils draws one’s eye instantly. The blisters are just emerging, so they’ll be quite the rage by tomorrow, when I return to work and again subject myself to the stares and glares from the teenagers who cross my threshold.

I always tell them to stay home, but cannot take that advice myself because there are no subs. Thursday, as the cold was beginning, I heard the chaos from next door, where an elderly sub was standing in for a teacher attending a training conference. I thought the windows would break as several students pounded on them, screaming to be let in so they could wreck havoc on the class the sub was trying to conduct. They ran up and down the staircases, threw items at the buildings and one another, continued to scream invectives at anyone and anything in their path, until I finally called security and told them to come out and settle things down. There were a couple of fights on campus, involving large groups of girls and then their boyfriends.

I guess it’s just that I know as a veteran of the wars that it’s easier to come to work sick than it is to call in a sub. So, tomorrow, I report to work and do the best I can to get from 8 am until 3 pm in one piece. If the nose isn’t dripping onto the student desks, my throat allows me to talk, and the cough is no longer ripping my lungs from the ribcage, I should be okay.