Flu for Two

By Mike Ball

Well, it’s another autumn here in Michigan. Tigers fans are trying to get excited about watching the Yankees and the Phillies in the World Series; hunters are polishing their bullets and stockpiling Slim Jims in anticipation of Opening Day; soggy maple leaves are clogging up all the rain gutters; otherwise sane and rational mothers are wiggling into Sexy Firefighter, Sexy Pirate, or Sexy Investment Banker costumes for the neighborhood Halloween party; and the annual pitched battle over who is going to eat Thanksgiving dinner where and with whom is about to get underway.

Oh yeah, and the Flu is here.

This year we are all excited about the H1N1 virus, better known as “Swine Flu.” Not only
is this an extremely virulent strain of influenza, especially dangerous and even life-threatening to children and pregnant women; it just sounds pretty darned unpleasant.

I mean, think about it. It seems to me that adding the word “Swine” gives pretty much anything a nasty connotation. Could you really enjoy a “Swine Milk Shake?” On the other hand, “Playful Kitten Flu” doesn’t really seem like it should be all that bad.

You could even make the whole thing sound kind of whole-foods-healthy; just try saying “ToFlu” out loud.

So when I noticed the first sign of the Swine Flu (it’s kind of like being whacked between the shoulder blades with a log splitter), I was resigned to enduring a few days of the galloping grungies. I banged down a couple of Alka Seltzer Plus, put on a pair of sweat pants, some sweat socks and a sweat shirt, and settled down on the couch to do some serious sweating.

Now one thing every husband counts on when he is sick is being babied by his wife. We know that woman is by nature a sweet and nurturing creature, willing to treat a husband with the sniffles like a fallen warrior. The fallen warrior usually responds to his woman’s kindness by becoming a whiney four-year-old for the duration.

So there I was, lying on the couch and noting with interest how my Swine Flu was grinding every muscle in my body, one by one, into pork sausage. At last I could hear my wife come home from work, so all the babying could commence. I took a deep breath and tried to work up my first coughing, hacking “Honnnneeeeeeyyyyy!”

Before I could make a sound, though, I got a good look at her. Her eyes were red and puffy as she stood weaving in the doorway, holding her purse strap loosely in one hand so that her bag dragged on the floor behind her. Her jacket was hanging off her shoulders, as if she had lacked the strength to get it all the way on. Her skin was roughly the color of guacamole.

Insightfully summing up the situation, I croaked, “Are you sick?”

“Unh-hunh,” she said. “You?”

“Unh-hunh.”

“Unh-oh!”

“Unh-hunh.”

So we spent the next week groaning at each other across the living room while grocery bags full of used Kleenex accumulated on the carpet between us. Meals were a matter of trying to decide which one of us had the energy to make toast, then gathering enough strength to crawl out to the kitchen.

A small pharmacy sprang up on the coffee table, its top littered with a variety of over-the-counter remedies that promised much and mainly delivered a nasty aftertaste. We tried herbs and vitamins, washed down with Red Bush Tea. We drank bourbon with honey and lemon. We got some great cough syrup from the doctor that is the rough equivalent of hitting yourself on the head with a hammer – and I mean that in the best possible way.

We’re both feeling quite a bit better now. At least we are able to trade coherent sentences and scramble a couple of eggs to go with the toast. But there is something about that week of shared misery that has drawn my wife and I closer together, forging a bond that somehow transcends everything that has gone before, and producing a deeper mutual respect and understanding.

Interestingly, my wife’s recovery is a little bit ahead of mine. She is back on her feet, even back to work, and all-in-all demonstrating a lot more energy than I have. Hey, wait a minute. That means…

Honnnneeeeeeyyyyy!

What I’ve Learned So Far… by Mike Ball is a syndicated weekly feature. If you enjoy this work, please contact your local newspaper’s editors and ask them to carry it.