I came down with a head cold this week, and it is the beginning of summer. Even mollusks and paramecium know that one doesn’t get a cold in the summer. It’s just not medically or biologically appropriate. A cold is something one gets in the winter when there is no sun, and when our immune systems are not running as efficiently as they should. Colds, quite simply, were invented to go along with other things in the winter we can barely tolerate, like fruitcakes and Youtube videos of people slipping on ice and falling on their children. They aren’t appropriate, but we expect them in the winter, not the summer.
However, I have tried to look at my cold as a positive thing, a chance to rebuild a few new habits, sort of look at life a little differently. Here are just a few things I’ve tried since this summer cold came on:
- I’m sleeping sitting up to help with drainage, and because I’m in a perfect position to read, I leave a book over my head in case I wake up.
- I’m using a variety of containers to hydrate myself, and drinking out of vessels that are more fun like our frying pan, the crock pot and a conch shell.
- I take more liberties to say odd things, phrases that take full advantage of my semi-delusional state. Phrases like, “Honey, I miss the ant farm we used to have. Those guys were my friends.” Or, this one: “Have we touched down yet? I thought for a moment I heard the captain speaking.”
And finally, I go around the house complaining of symptoms unrelated to a cold like dry kneecaps, missing fingernails, and the sudden appearance of long, pirate-like scars.
I think one of the worst things about having a cold is having to hear people-commercials about new, over-the-counter remedies and miracle cures that will lessen my symptoms. Our mail lady, for example, cited how Roman soldiers slathered honey all over their bodies to cure a cold, and that this honey-smothering technique also made it difficult for an attacking soldier to get them in a headlock. Our mail lady would be capable of putting me in a headlock, so after her explanation, I keep a bottle of honey by the door in case she tries any sudden battle moves on me.
As a last resort, I did make an appointment with my physician. During the examination, he asked me more questions about my family than about my condition. I think, truth be told, that doctors don’t want to help you when you have a cold because the common cold offers no new medical challenge to them. It doesn’t present itself with bright purple and chartreuse blotches, or parts of a mustache falling off.
“Jeff, how are you doing?” the doctor said. “You sound a little hoarse.” I smile and cough on him, tell him I’m about to throw up and need to be in the ICU. Unfazed, he sticks a temperature gun in my ear, a move that feels like something my brother used to do when we were ten, and looking at me squarely, feels around on my tonsils and adenoids, which were taken out forty-five years ago.
“Have you tried Vic’s VapoRub?” he says, listening to my back with a telescope. When I hear that question, I can feel my blood pressure start to rise. No one, and I mean no one, uses the term Vic’s VapoRub anymore, I think to myself. In the twenty-first century, we just say Vics and everyone knows what you are talking about. I don’t walk around my house using the full names of products in conversation. If we need more creamer at the grocery store, for example, I just say that, and not “Hey honey, can you pick up another container of Vanilla Coffee Mate Natural Bliss Real Milk and Creamer, please?”
Still, there is one part of getting a cold that I enjoy, and that has to do with how my voice changes. Since I have a rather delightful habit of practicing various noises as I go about my day, like machine-gun fire, and baby tiger growls, changes in my voice when I have a cold offer a host of unique possibilities. And because my throat is all off kilter, I am able to hit a note at least two octaves lower than usual. As I practice my scales, particularly in the morning, I can sometimes hit a low C, a note so low that flocks of Canadian geese begin gathering in our front yard.
You might not really fathom how incredibly important my voice change is to the future of our family. Let me just say for starters that there is no one, NO ONE, in our family, our extended family, our nuclear family or anyone related to our Bender relatives that has ever been able to hold a tune. We have all been genetically engineered to sound really bad when we sing anything, going all the way back to the Revolutionary War.
Now, with a summer cold, and my voice wonderfully low, I thought this would be a unique opportunity to restore some credibility to the family singing name, or at least the part we played in history and possibly the founding of our country, although that is a bit a vocal stretch.
So, for your listening pleasure, I thought I’d try my hand at a few of the raw notes I’m, enjoying here at home. Never hog a good thing, I always say. Here then, is a little ditty I’ve always loved. Just picture me walking amongst the geese out front, enjoying each other’s company with my new low frequency, fresh from my summer cold, melody. And please, feel free to hum along if you like:
Sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter, don't you call me
'cause I can't goI owe my soul to the
VapoRub storeIf you see me coming, better step aside
A lot of men didn't, a lot of men died
One sneeze of iron, the other of steel
If a winter cold don't a-get you, then a summer one will
(Repeat until exhausted…)