Oh, the joy of getting sick ~ January 10, 1991

David Heiller

There’s nothing like being sick to give you a healthy perspective on life. Everywhere you go these days, you find people with colds, flu, upset stomachs, fevers, shaking, aching, coughing, blowing noses that would make Rudolph jealous, they’re so red.

But if you’re like me, you don’t really FEEL for these folks right away. You look at them and say to yourself, “Αw, come on, it can’t be THAT bad.” You know they’re sick, but you think in a righteous tone, “I never get that sick.”

Napping David with Rosie, 2006. He wasn't the most sympathetic guy when others were sick. "Go for a walk, you'll feel better," was his stock line. 
Sometimes he got a taste of it though!

Then one morning your ears start to ring, and your stomach turns inside out, and soon your head feels like a hammer-mill and your tongue feels like a doormat for the Iraqi Army and your chest starts to wheeze like Florian Chmielewski’s accordion.

Then suddenly you understand, because you feel just like those so-called fakers, and on top of your aches and pains, you can add a touch of guilt for doubting them in the first place.

It started at work, first with Sandi, then Arla, then Ardis and Cindy, all with the same flu bug, causing all those symptoms, causing them to walk around on eggshells and stare blankly for a split second when you ask them a question, then groaning an answer.

Only Hazel and I withstood the bug at work. Hazel, age 69, could thank her clean-living life-style and pure Danish bloodlines. And me, a robust 37-year-old male in the prime of life, well, “I never get sick,” I thought, in that same righteous tone.

Then last week, it hit me. First in the lungs, then the head, then the stomach. It hit hard. I lost my appetite, dropped five pounds in a day. I stayed home from work, slept two hours in the afternoon. Normal tasks looked mountainous. Dishes stacked up on the counter, left entirely for Cindy. Carrying in wood took my breath away. The outhouse seemed miles away. I couldn’t even read bedtime stories to the kids.

Arla called from work on Friday afternoon, at the peak of this misery, and we groaned at each other. She said she was going home to bed, and I said “Good,” and for once I understood how she felt, because I felt the same way. It’s amazing what a little illness will do fοr your empathy.

It’s funny too, that just when you think you’ll never start feeling better, you notice you are feeling better. It doesn’t happen with the snap of a finger. First it’s the head, not pounding so hard. You, don’t feel dizzy when you rise from the chair. Loud noises don’t hurt your ears as much. You even put away the plastic bucket that has stayed by your side for the past day. You eat supper with the rest of the family, and eye that bottle of beer in the fridge with a renewed look, and even think about making some popcorn before you go to bed.

And you learn the kindness and beneficence of St. Francis of Assisi. When your five-year-old daughter comes into your bedroom and tickles your feet as you try to nap—Tickle-Tickle-Tickle—you refrain from tossing her into a snow bank. When you see the house in chaos, you start the vacuum cleaner, and sweep the floor, and wash the dishes.

And when the sun rises to an incredible 15 degrees ABOVE zero, you strap the skis on the kids and yourself, and take a jaunt into the woods, and breathe in a few deep breaths, and wonder how you could ever have slept through all this warmth and sunshine and beauty.

Yup, there’s nothing like being sick to give you a new outlook on a healthy life.