I was sick last week.
Let me clarify for those who are not intensely aware of the goings-on of my lymphatic system. I am rarely ever sick. The last time I was sick I was in seventh grade. Apparently, I'd been having it too easy and it was time to knock some sense into me. It seemed that all of the germs I had so cunningly avoided for those years gathered together and were following me, lurking, waiting to strike at the opportune moment.
"Alright, men," I imagined the germ leader whispering to his expectantly waiting troops, "she has her first quiz this week, let's get her!"
It started out simply enough with a little cold Sunday - nothing I couldn't handle. But by the time I reached around for the Vitamin C drops, this innocent little cold had morphed into what could only be the king of all Rhinoviruses. It stripped me of all my defenses and attacked my out-of-practice immune system, lazy and spoiled from years of leisure. There was no competition.
I tried all the initial precautions: I went to bed early and drank orange juice. But when I woke up on Monday, it seemed to have gotten worse, just in time for class from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. The germ leader was cackling to himself, I could feel it.
I armed myself with piles of Kleenex and headed to my first class, determined to be cool and calm in the face of the calamity. I pictured myself settling down gracefully into each class, occasionally, coyly pulling out a tissue. I hoped I looked like sick people do in magazines, all cozy in their sweaters, with just enough "come hither and take care of me" coloring. No such luck.
My nose was running so badly by the start of my first class that I could do nothing but hold a wad of tissues to it as I took notes. If I was called on, I had to tilt my head back so I didn't drown. I had the dreaded case of "snorking" through each discussion. It was getting to the point that the professor was looking around in confusion, searching for the incessant noise. Meanwhile, nearby students glared at me for ruining the class that they didn't care about until five minutes ago, when it was so rudely interrupted by my noisemaking. No one sat near me all day. Not that I blamed them, of course, but it still hurt my feelings. I had a perfect ring of empty desks around me in each class, and even larger bands in some. It was as if I was contagious with leprosy instead of the common cold. At one point, a girl was walking down the aisle to sit by me. I looked up with what I hoped was a friendly and inviting look, grinning foolishly. She took one glance at the Kleenex attached to my face and my crazed grin and quickly backed away.
The looking cute part was a similar failure. My makeup was quickly scrubbed away by my watery eyes and my nose was as red as a lobster, rubbed raw. My attempt to look all bundled up and precious was negated by the 90 degree heat index. I panted and sweated and wiped my nose all the way from one class to the next, not able to avoid the looks of disgust I was receiving. In all honesty, it was exactly what I deserved for wearing a cardigan at the end of summer, but come on, I was probably delusional from a fever.
I settled back into my dorm room that evening, fully ready to whine all night to my roomie and whichever unfortunate hallmate happened to walk by. I believe they were warned ahead of time, though, because my roommate was absent all night and the neighbors seemed oddly quiet. The only sound in the hallway was the echoing of my nose blowing and thunderous sneezes. Clearly I had been quarantined.
Petulant and desperate, I began to whine to friends via text. I only got a few responses, but most were of the "What do you want me to do?" and, "Wait, this is just a cold, right?" variety. I even went as far as texting my mother, whimpering about my need for attention at this difficult time. All my calls went unanswered.
Disappointed in the lack of care exhibited towards my suffering and equally disappointed in my failure to pull off the elegantly ill look, I fell into a sneezy doze, only to awake feeling nearly 100 percent better. When my friends I had been so whiny to the night before saw me, they were convinced I had made up the entire thing just to have something to whine about.
Why would I ever whine about just a cold?
Emily's column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at e.churchill@cavalierdaily.com.
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