As I continue to recover from a cold, I wonder: “Why do I feel guilty about getting sick?”
Maybe it’s because I wonder if I let myself become sick. Could I have done more to protect myself?
I did get a flu shot. I do frequently wash my hands. But I don’t clean the handles of shopping carts with antibacterial wipes before I begin my grocery shopping. It seems unnecessary to me. I’m going to wash all the produce, and everything else is wrapped, boxed and canned. I think I can keep my hands away from my mouth and eyes for the duration of the errand.
But suppose that was my downfall?
On the other hand, I work with young people as a school librarian. It is widely acknowledged that children are germ factories. The youngest ones pick their noses and only cover their sneezes and coughs two out of three times. Teachers have generous sick leave allowances for this very reason.
Also, there are several times that I recall contracting an illness through no neglect on my part. For example, once a child sneezed directly on me at the Common Ground Fair. I got a doozy of a cold a few days later.
Two years ago, I got a flu shot and also got the flu. I was out of work for nearly two weeks with fever, body aches and chills.
Note to self: Sometimes you get sick no matter what you do.
Maybe I feel guilty because I have to stay home from work. I hate to inconvenience people. I like to do the right thing whenever possible.
But what is the right thing when it comes to contagious diseases? I would say to stay home and stop spreading your germs around. I once had a colleague who usually had two massive colds a year. She would insist on coming in for half a day. This was not cool.
When I returned to school today after four days away (partly on a weekend) I felt like I might have taken another day, even though I felt well enough to work. I had brought my own box of tissues and a bottle of iced green tea with ginger. My medication hadn’t kicked in yet, so I was breathing rather noisily. Occasionally I would make a whistle-like sound, like a guinea pig. Then I had to use the tissues. I was very mindful of disposing of those tissues, but it was obvious that I was still — yes — a germ factory.
Never mind my colleagues—I was annoying myself.
Last spring, I woke up with a cold on the day of a conference that I attend every year. I went, though my nose was running mightily. Armed with tissues and a handkerchief, I tried to be discreet. I sat away from others in the workshops and attempted to stifle my sneezes. These efforts exhausted me so, I had to leave after lunch. I thought I heard a collective sigh of relief as I exited.
When I’m sick, I rest. Sometimes, if I feel I’m coming down with something, a good nap is enough to ward off the evil. But resting usually means that my husband, Paul, has to pick up my slack. Usually this means taking my turn at feeding our chickens, dogs and cats.
I often dispatch Paul to the grocery store when I’m under the weather. He is always willing to help me out — in fact, I tell him that his willingness to run to the store for me at a moment’s notice is one of his best qualities! Still, I feel guilty when I send him off to get me soup, juice and ginger ale.
Since I am the household chef, and Paul doesn’t like to cook, we have to rely on convenience foods or takeout if I can’t whip up something. I like to eat healthy and I have food allergies, so normally we are eating cooked-from-scratch meals. It’s not the end of the world; just another reason to feel guilty about being sick.
It would be nice to just have to think about myself when I’m sick. I would probably recover more quickly. Once when I had the flu, my mother was visiting. She and Paul took over the household. All I had to do was sleep.
That will never happen again. Like most other adults, I have to balance my routine aches and pains with my everyday responsibilities. Surgery last year literally took me off my feet, but I still sat at the kitchen counter and directed Paul as he prepped a meal in the slow cooker. As soon as I was able to put some weight on my foot, I resumed feeding the dogs and cats. It was a few weeks before I ventured out to take care of the chickens, however.
I do appreciate all Paul does for me when I’m not feeling well. So I really feel guilty when, just as I am feeling it’s safe to leave the house without a personal box of tissues, I hear him sneeze.
But what can I do? “Glass of juice?” I ask. “Soup?” No, that’s not enough.
“Go lie down. I’ll take care of everything.” And don’t feel guilty about it.
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