Comfort and Joy

It's hard to imagine a time when you feel more uncomfortable than when you are sick. Be it a cold, headache, or stomach bug, not feeling well has most of us attempting to hibernate in some capacity and come out only when our faces are no longer red and puffy. Or, at least, we've washed our hair.

So, it's quite disconcerting to be sick during the holiday season, when everyone around you is seemingly at their best, smiling, laughing, and calling out "Merry Christmas!" (I actually think this is a huge ruse perpetuated by the masses to generate Christmas sales, because, really, who's that happy all month long?). I'm getting over...well, I'm not sure what, let's just call it an upper respiratory infection...and despite my massive sense of discomfort, I continued to run into shiny, happy people every time I turned around. I've spent the better part of five days sleeping, eating ice cream, and walking around the house with warm compresses on my face. Even Sasha, who would choose to become permanently attached to my body if it was possible, had enough of the coughing disturbing her sleep to stay away from me. All I wanted was to hide under my covers for a few days.

But it was not to be. It began at Sunday brunch, when, despite feeling lousy, I managed to get dressed, do my hair, apply a little make up, and generally look presentable to the world. I had a little time before meeting a friend, so I wandered a department store a bit, hoping Santa might pop out and tell me I'm a winner (of anything, I'm not picky). I quickly noticed that there were more staff members in the store than shoppers, which was fine by me, since whatever I had was starting to make me cranky by then. I meandered, undisturbed. Until I was overtaken by a coughing fit. Not one of my finer moments. Or two. Finally, I looked up to see two staff members, peering over their counter at me, probably wondering if they needed to call 911. I decided Santa was not paying me a visit here and moved on to the restaurant.

Brunch proceeded, a good time had by all, despite a momentary desire to run for the bathroom when a beautiful stack of pancakes were set in front of me. Afterwards, I decided to stop at the drug store to pick up some Claritin. Other than being certain I didn't have a cold I wasn't sure what I had, and allergies was as good a guess as any. Quickly grabbing a package, I waited patiently in line at the counter. Because I'm known for my patience, especially when I don't feel well. "Merry Christmas!" the clerk said to me. "How are you today?" he asked, seemingly genuinely concerned yet evidently unaware that I was purchasing medication. Responding that I'd feel a whole lot better once I could take a few pills, I paid and began to move on. "Hope you feel better!" he called out after me.

The next 24 hours were a bit of a blur. At some point, I decided that ice cream was just what my sore throat needed. Wearing sweats with a spot on the shirt, thick Christmas bed socks, and my hair held up by barrettes, I headed for the grocery store. Selecting a carton, I made my way to the self-checkout, hoping to avoid the conversation from the drug store. "How are you today?" asked a nearby clerk, sweeping the nearby floor. I looked up, coughed, and attempted to smile. Being the organized person that I am, it took a good minute for me to find my store card and begin the checkout process. Just long enough for the clerk to make his way past me again. And apparently long enough for him to have forgotten that he'd already greeted me. "How are you today?" he asked. Again. This time I sneezed, waved my hand, and watched as the tissue I'd forgotten was in my hand floated to the floor.

A day or two later (they all started to blend together at this point), I was sitting up on the couch, hoping that by sheer will I could clear my head of the post-nasal drip that had taken over. The mailman whizzed past outside, and since no one is more welcome than the mailman at Christmastime, I climbed out from under my blanket to go get the mail. I never had bothered to get dressed, wearing my only nightgown in an attempt to avoid overheating in winter jammies (I was still experiencing hot flashes). I peeked out the door, observed the quiet that is mid-afternoon in a residential neighborhood, and decided it was safe to head down the driveway. Right before a big, yellow school bus pulled up at my corner, letting out impressionable and easily frightened young children. Not to be deterred, I finished my mission, carefully avoiding looking at the children who were now sure to go home to ask mommy if they could stay in their pajamas all day.

While most of my symptoms have abated, I continue to cough all day and night, making it difficult to return to a state of comfort and joy. But at least everyone around me isn't responding to my cough with "Merry Christmas!"