WHEN I WAS a young man, colds were minor annoyances, though less annoying than colleagues responding to every sneeze with an automatic “God bless you,” despite lacking the ecclesial authority to do so. (What, you’re pope now?) Colds were temporary things, easily overcome by the strong immune systems of youth, and I never stayed home from work.
But having a cold now is like being targeted by one of Obama’s Death Panels, which apparently selected me for demise; at least that’s how it felt for the five straight days I spent in bed. My immune system was else-where—perhaps volunteering at a local charity—and it took its sweet time pulling me through.
Trying to remain positive, even with a productive cough (a pleasant medical term meaning “projectile phlegm,” as disgusting as it is difficult to spell), I realized that staying in bed for days should be seen as an opportunity, and not a waste. After all, the Chinese character for “opportunity” is a guy standing next to what looks like an out-house next to a coffee shop, which makes no sense, so never mind. But a week of home recovery did give me time to do the things I’ve long postponed because of the demands of family and career. Such as:
- Staring at the ceiling. Admittedly, some might scoff at the limits of such an endeavor, but for legendary under-achievers like me, it is a practice ripe with possibility. I see cracks up there that need attention, but which I will neither caulk nor paint. An important task never accomplished is a satisfying end unto itself.
- Thinking up new advancements in health care, such as nostril-specific decongestants. (“If you’re going to the store, can you pick up more Sudafed Right? I still have enough of the Left.”) Why is the scientific community leaving this up to me?
- Tormenting the cat. Granted, this need not be limited to sick days. In fact, it can be a gratifying part of any day that one is alive on this earth. But laying sick in bed allows sufficient time both for planning—and savor-ing—a job well done. In this instance, I simply wiggled one foot under the covers, just enough to attract the cat’s attention. When it pounced, I quickly raised the other foot, reshaping the original flat surface of the bed into a suddenly unscalable, mountain-like peak. This surprised the cat who, unable to change direction in mid-air, was sent sliding back to the floor in a jumble of writhing paws and tail. This filled me with mirth, but it also led to a five-minute fit of coughing with an already-tender throat. (Worth it.) But spare me your “poor little kitty” responses. This cat was already bringing attitude when he entered the room, haughtily wondering why he must compete for surface areas on a weekday. Setting him straight was an important part of my healing process.
- Watching a new golden age of scripted television. Although, as a sick person, one must be particularly cautious when viewing comedies. Laughter hurts the throat. Doctors recommend serious dramas or cloying romances when suffering from a bronchial condition, nursing a cracked rib, or recovering from a recent vasectomy. Laughter, in those cases, is the worst medicine.
- Spending time on Facebook, where one reconnects with old friends and loved ones—some with Russian herit-age—embracing the rich tapestry of relationships in our lives. Unless there is a Wayfair ad. Who needs friends and loved ones when you can buy that incredible Cortina Sleigh Bed (above), and it’s only $3,170! For discriminating shut-ins who insist on being bedridden in Old World luxury, your sleigh awaits. (“Come find me, kitty!”)
EVENTUALLY, of course, I felt better, and returning to work was its own reward. The suffering was soon forgotten when I was surrounded by appreciative colleagues who barely contained their joy at my return. They may have said, “Oh, you were gone?” But their moist eyes proclaimed, “We missed you!” And discovering that my office had been turned into a storage area only reinforced my sense of worth to the organization. It’s good to be back. (I’ll just check my secret candy drawer and ... J’Accuse...!)
This appears in the January 2018 issue of Sojourners
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