The agony and the ecstasy

No, I’m not referring to the 1965 movie starring Charlton Heston. That movie dramatically recounts the life of Michelangelo and, of course, his challenges while painting the Sistine Chapel. As I understand it, the entire project ceiling to floor took about four years.

And that’s about what it feels like when you have the flu, a good four years from the beginning of the agony to the ecstasy of good health. I speak from experience, as I am a recovering flu sufferer. I am so grateful to able to write these words today; as a few weeks ago, I was surely a goner.

First, let me state for the public record that I am probably the world’s worst patient. I can’t swallow a pill, and I’ve been known to projectile spit out evil-tasting medicine. To quote my favorite HBO mob boss, Tony Soprano, if it isn’t fruit flavored, “fuhgeddaboutit.”

I don’t know about other women, but I have a difficult time talking out loud about certain bodily situations, especially if it’s anything of a digestive nature. Through the years, my husband and I have found various creative ways to sort of work around this, and it looks like something akin to the game charades.

I’ll wrap my arms around my middle and he’ll yell out, “A hug—you’re giving someone a hug.” In a fevered fury, I’ll do the arm wrap thing again and add a grimace, and he’ll yell out, “Oh, you have a stomach ache,” and I’ll do the Charades add-to sign with my hands (translated, means I’m nauseated), and he’ll finally get it. Exhausted but exhilarated that he actually puts up with this little antic on my part after all these years, I fall back on the bed as he goes to find something berry-flavored with the smiling face of a six-year-old on the box to help with this malady.

And this is reminiscent of the commercial where the woman is standing in the aisle at a Walgreens or CVS glancing at rows of over-the-counter medication. Suddenly, a woman totally unbeknownst to her approaches and asks with a sly smile and a motherly all-knowing look, “Constipated?” and the woman actually smiles and answers, “Yes.” Is this something folks are anxious to unburden themselves of by confessing it to a stranger?

This scenario is inconceivable from my point of view without the accompanying hand gestures. Now imagine, if you will, trying to get that particular point across using charades as I am forced to do. Well, I guess some things are better left to the imagination.

By day two I was ready to eat something but not well enough to prepare it. My dear husband announced that he would make Jell-O. As most women already know, men just hate to stop and ask for directions, and to be truthful, I was too weak to offer them. Several hours later, I noticed a small bowl of something red appeared at my bedside while I was sleeping. Dehydrated and hungry, I was thrilled to grab that spoon and soon found myself eating something akin to red rubber. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, I asked my husband how he had prepared the Jell-O, and he replied that he had “dumped” the contents of the package into a bowl and added a cup of boiling water then stirred it around and put it in the refrigerator just “as I’ve seen you do.” I guess he just missed that additional cup of cold water step. So, like Gilda Radner of Saturday Night Live fame, may she rest in peace, I simply said, “Never mind,” and ate it.

On day three I was able to assume the upright position. When I glanced in the mirror, Martin Short’s Ed Grimsley character stared back at me. My hair had matted to both sides of my head forming one lone hair stalk sticking straight up in the middle. Apparently this year’s flu came with a sampling of the SNL cast, which just goes to substantiate my theory that humor can be found anywhere.

It’s been several weeks of recuperation because, as we age, I’m told, everything takes longer. The household is back to normal and I’m cooking again. We’re having friends over next weekend for a traditional Sunday dinner to celebrate good health. I plan to serve pot roast, mashed potatoes, peas, and buttery crescent rolls, and of course, I’ll be making the Jell-O mold.

So, on behalf of Michelangelo, “Vi auguriamo una buona salute,” and from Moses and me, “A Bi Gezunt!”

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