I work for a school district, which means I am in daily contact with children ranging in age from four to 18. In February, I wake up every morning feeling like I’m going to come down with something.
It’s a kind of anticipatory distress.
The school nurses put out bulletins from the front. We’ve had cases of strep throat; chicken pox; and hand, foot and mouth disease. Wipe down your desks! Here’s how to tell if you have the flu or a cold.
I appreciate the information, but it does make me feel like I’m walking around in a minefield of infection.
Then again, I do already know that. The day had barely begun in one elementary school when, from the library, I could hear a child coughing in a nearby classroom. Coughing and coughing and coughing….
I had to hope that student didn’t have library time that day.
This winter has been a tough one for sickness. The flu is killing people—37 children across the country as I write this. That is alarming. I know firsthand that flu can kill. My mother’s sister died in the Spanish Influenza epidemic of 1918. Mom, who was born two years later, was named for her.
My mother also had a story about the time she got the flu herself—many years later—and had repercussions from it for months. She marveled at how long it had taken her to recover.
I have kept this in mind as an adult. It’s like the stories various people have told me about rough plane trips. I don’t enjoy flying, so it was helpful to remember, when a plane I was on hit turbulence, that it wasn’t as bad as what so-and-so had gone through, and they had survived!
This year, I’ve noticed that more adults have been out sick for multiple days. That’s never a good sign. There is a saying that, for teachers, it’s harder to stay out sick than it is to come in and do your job. They have to provide lesson plans for their subs. So when my colleagues are out for more than one day, I assume they are seriously ill.
I always get a flu shot. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s the best defense we have. The first year I taught, I developed a nasty stomach flu. I did not want history to repeat itself and got the shot annually, from then on. Finally, though, it was my turn again.
It was a Friday afternoon in November, 2014. As I sat at my desk, I felt a curtain had descended around me, kind of like I was a parakeet in a cage. I was exhausted and didn’t feel any better the next day.
My husband, Paul, asked me if I had a fever. “I never get fevers,” I said. I thought it was interesting that whenever I felt unwell, he asked me if I had a high temperature. I finally decided that must have been the benchmark for illness at home when he was growing up. In my family, vomiting was the signal you needed to go back to bed. Maybe this was because none of us got fevers; I don’t remember.
In any case, I did take my temperature that day and discovered that it was, indeed, over 100 degrees. I now know this is the classic indicator of influenza. Adults do not get fevers when they have colds.
I then began to experience the effects of fever. I was in a half-awake, half-asleep state. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was having hallucinations, I did have strange images slide through my brain, and I wasn’t quite sure what was real and what wasn’t.
Taking ibuprofen helped me survive the mornings, but by the afternoons, chills set in. I remember lying on the love seat in the living room one day, in my pajamas and housecoat, with three throws and a 35-pound dog on top of me, shaking and shaking.
After a week of this, I began to think I’d never be myself again. I tried not to catastrophize, but I had no other symptoms. No stomach complaints, no upper respiratory issues . . . . I just had a fever, along with all of its accompanying joys—fatigue, loss of appetite, inability to think clearly, etc. I’ve since learned it is entirely possible to have this kind of flu.
I slowly started to recover, but I was sick for two weeks. I lost 10 pounds, which was the only bright spot. Still, trust me—there are easier ways to lose the weight.
Once again, I was filled with resolve: Never again! Oh, if it were only up to me.
Because we all know that no matter how carefully we take care of ourselves, we can still be stricken. One time at the Common Ground Country Fair, which is held at the end of September, a child sneezed on me. I washed my hands as soon as possible (this was a fairgrounds after all), but I still came down with a raging head cold.
It’s hard (and sometimes impossible) for most adults to take the time we need when we fall ill. But it’s the best thing we can do, for all concerned. We can promise ourselves to be careful if we have to go to work, but germs are tricky.
It’s the sick season. Give yourself, and the rest of us, a break. It’s not nice to sneeze on other people.
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