Sick of being sick.

Is there any better time for a little introspection than when you are sick in bed? I think not....

 

I am finally on the mend, but recently my head cold turned into an awful chest cold and a bone rattling cough.   I have been hot….cold…sweaty….chilled to the bone…can’t lie flat, can’t sit up…head thumping sick.  And when I can’t entertain myself outside my head,  I turn inward and begin to turn the pages in my memory’s scrapbook.

 
I suffered many bouts with bronchitis as a little girl.  Mom's treatment was to put me in a “mist tent” to help me breathe.  That was an old bed sheet, a TV tray in the middle of the bed to support it, and the trusty vaporizer pumping out steam and the occasional stream of boiling water just to keep things interesting.    

 


If it persisted out came the heavy guns, I would have to drink Dr.Drake’s Cough Medicine.   Actually “drink” is not the right word…my parents held me down and poured the foul smelling/evil tasting concoction down my throat.  To this day I can still see that bottle and taste that stuff.  It looked like liquid pearls, and its oily texture clung to the inside of my protesting mouth long after I had relented and swallowed.  I know they were doing what they thought they had to do….but EWWWWWWWWWW.   I sincerely believe Dr.Drake’s Cough Medicine was the childhood medicinal equivalent of water boarding.

 

Mom’s food remedy when I was sick was poached eggs.  I almost never eat poached eggs as an adult; it is still a childhood “sacred food” that is reserved for the times I need to summon all the healing powers I can muster.

 

Although I never want to see another jar of it, I will always admire the all-inclusive powers of Vicks Vapo Rub.   You can eat it, breathe it in steam, rub it on, stick it up your nose…it’s magic!  Mom would slather that stuff on my wheezing chest, and then fold one of my Dad’s t-shirts over the mess.  She would pin that shirt to the inside of my pajama top to keep it in place, thus forming a smelly, slimy poultice that was protected by this thick pad as the fumes burned my eyes and sinus cavities.  Then it was time for a pot of boiling water with….what else?....Vicks globbed into the pot.  I’d stand on a chair, towel over my head to trap the steam, and breathe in.   I am amazed some creative lawyer hasn’t formed a class action suit for baby boomers who have suffered lung damage from the piercing fumes Vicks Vapo Rub.

 

The only interruption in this eucalyptus fueled marathon was to take my temperature.   I cannot tell you how happy I was to make the first step toward growing up….the oral thermometer.  Although it seemed as if I had this little glass stick poking out of my mouth for most of the winter, the real fun began when one of them broke.  I can remember “chasing” the liquid mercury around the table top on several occasions.  If not for the fact that I had a long bout with bronchitis every year, and played with numerous globs of mercury,
                                                      I might have had a much higher IQ.

 

These long ago memories of being sick are far and away over shadowed by the memory of my Mother, hovering over me.  She was faithful in her efforts to heal and entertain as she performed the rituals I resisted so energetically.  I will never forget her cool hand on my hot forehead…the endless supply of poached eggs at any hour of the day or night…and her smile of relief when things seem to be going in the right direction.

Taking a careful look at my memories of her taking care of me, and much later me taking care of my own children, I realize she didn’t know what she was doing any more than I did.  Every Mother remembers the “is this the right thing to do” terrors!  But I thought she knew everything…and my children believed the same thing of me.  Time puts those memories into perspective, but it still doesn’t diminish my appreciation of the love and devotion of a young mother doing her very best to care for her child.

 

And so, for all the Vicks Vapo Rub, and the Dr. Drake’s (shudder) Cough Medicine and the poached eggs I thank you, Mom.  And for the memories that I can still take out and enjoy all these years later I applaud you.

 

My Mother called a little while ago to see how I’m feeling.  At 87 she still worries about me.  Her parting comment cemented that fact when she said, “Now, don’t go to bed with a cough drop in your mouth, and don’t use them when you’re coughing!   You can get choked on those things.”  

 

                           Some things blessedly never seem to change

 

                                                   LIFE IS GOOD