It’s almost March (yay!), but the February
4County Mall can still be found for free in newspaper stands around the area,
including outside Albion Village Foods. (Sadly, I got my copy at the entrance
to Parkview Noble Hospital.) In addition to this column, the fun page, and all
the deals and coupons, you can read a piece about Valentine’s Day by Lydia
Waring and fiction by Rita Robbins and Nick Hayden. On the website is also a
new piece by Rief Gillg, Assistant Principal at East Noble High School.
SLIGHTLY
OFF THE MARK
We like our traditions here in
northern Indiana: For instance, it’s traditional for us to get sick every fall
and winter. All of us.
I’m as traditional as the next guy,
assuming the next guy is a Hoosier, so a few years ago I decided to take it up
a notch. No annual cold or flu for me, no sir! I tried strep throat but didn’t
like it very much, because without a voice I couldn’t whine. So, I went for the
sinus infection. Sure enough, it became as traditional as that bowl of can-shaped
cranberries nobody eats at Thanksgiving.
Then I started getting three or four
of them every winter—sinus infections, not cranberries. Turns out not all
traditions are so great.
Now, I’m not going to go into detail
about my sinus surgery, because the details are all disgusting. I once wrote a
column about my prostate biopsy, and that set a high bar, but a sinusotomy has
it beat. The recovery period was nothing but two weeks of “ow” and “ick”.
Still, when it was over I basked in
the knowledge that my chronic illnesses would soon be a thing of the past.
Then I caught a cold.
That cold immediately settled into a
sinus infection.
See, here’s the thing: It takes from
twelve weeks to a year for sinuses to
settle down and actually improve after sinus surgery. Until then, you’re just
as prone to problems as you were before. Although by the end of a few weeks my
breathing seemed better, that just made it easier for viruses to work their way
up and have a party. And it was a wild party.
My wife looks after my health, by
which I mean she keeps me warm, feeds me good food, and lectures me. “Drink
lots of fluids. Are you taking extra vitamin C? Don’t forget the fluids. Here’s
some hot tea with honey, and Echinacea. Are you drinking fluids?”
“I think I hear the dog calling your
name.”
The dog wasn’t. In fact, the dog was
laying at my feet, because he tends to stay close whenever he thinks I’m dying.
My doctor had a more aggressive
treatment in mind. When he learned I had still another sinus infection, he gave
instructions for the nurse to bring a certain type of antibiotic. The nurse
replied, “Let me remove the breakables from the treatment room first, and bring
in some restraints.”
Possibly I should have seen that as a
warning.
My doctor is an old military man, and
he explained his reasoning. “We need to keep at this until all the dogs are
dead.”
“Wait, what? But I like my dog.”
“I don’t mean literally. I used to say
we needed to keep at it until all the cats are dead, but people complained.”
Apparently dog owners are more laid
back than cat owners. That makes sense, as dogs are more laid back than cats.
The nurse brought in two needles.
“This is going to hurt.”
“No problem.” I pulled up my
shirtsleeve.
“That’s not where we give it.”
I had to lay down on the treatment table—on
my belly, which tells you where the shot goes. I couldn’t just bend over,
because apparently this shot sometimes makes you faint. She put the first one
in.
“Hey, that’s not
so—aaaaauuuuggghhhhHHHH!!!!!!”
“Okay, now let’s do the other one.”
It took a day and a half for the pain
to ease. I couldn’t crouch down. I couldn’t climb stairs. I couldn’t sit back
against anything. Two days later I went back to the doc, who gave me a careful
examination.
“Well, we’d better keep at this.”
He meant two more shots. I knew this
because of the way the nurse winced when he said it. I have to admit, though,
she’s got a really strong grip for patients who try to run away.
Meanwhile I still got the antibiotics
by pill, which have their own issues, but at least they don’t cause people to
reminisce about when they got stabbed in college. Eventually my own stabbing,
the stabbing pain in my forehead, began to ease, and as I write this it’s down
to a four out of ten, with watching a presidential debate being ten. The
treatment was working, and metaphorical dogs and cats were dropping like flies.
Then my wife caught my cold.
I sat her down on the recliner and
brought her a cup of hot tea and a box of Kleenex, while the dog laid at her
feet in what I can only call a faithful deathwatch. Then I said lovingly:
“Drink lots of fluids. Are you taking
extra vitamin C? Don’t forget the fluids. Here’s some hot tea with honey, and
Echinacea. Are you drinking fluids?”
And that’s when she threw the Kleenex
box at me. She’s a pretty good shot, too—hit me right on my sore hip.
Good thing she didn’t reach for the
tea cup.
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| "What, he's dying? Again? Can I have his stuff?" |
