Flu diary: Great Pandemic 2009, part 3
Colorado Springs — Wednesday morning I think I am going to have this flu under control, but I wake with the same sensations of old-man ricketiness, creaking bones, aching teeth. It is still there, the flu, deep down in the bones. The battle is yet on. It ain't over. This "mild" flu has sank its vampire teeth deeply into my garlic-rich, onion-cloaked body. Mild.
What is the most common description we are pummeled with, regarding h1n1 Swine Flu?
The novel h1n1 Swine Flu is mild.
Watching television news, any time the present flu is mentioned, it is described as being "mild" in comparison to the seasonal flu. One person hears it, ten people repeat it. It does not take long before you might even begin to believe it.
On what basis are the "experts" making this comparison? Comparing h1n1 Swine Flu in the off-season, to "seasonal" flu in its season. See the disjointed pretext? To make an accurate comparison, you need to compare h1n1 Swine Flu in the flu season. No one has been able to make this comparison, as yet, because we have not lived through the Swine Flu during the flu season.
It is the same thing as saying Dodge vehicles, when traveling 55 miles per hour, are so much faster than Ford vehicles when they are sitting still. Or my car on the freeway going 75 miles an hour is so much faster than your car when it is in the city doing 35 measly miles an hour. Any way you look at it, the comparisons between h1n1 Swine flu and "seasonal flu" are absurd, because they have not competed side by side, on the same racetrack.
By mid-March 2010 — looking back — only then will there be an available race comparison between "seasonal flu" and the h1n1 Swine Flu. Anything given today is a projection. It is, I am so sorry to tell you, false prophecy (unless, that is, it turns out to be correct; it will still be prophecy, accidentally correct prophecy, but playing in prophecy is not the job of health-care experts and news reporters and media personalities). But people, experts, media personalities, are all discussing it as if it has already happened. That it is in the books, that Swine Flu is mild.
Do you think that in March 2010 the Swine Flu will be described as mild? I am no prophet, but I have a very grim certainty down deep in my gut (where currently bubbles and boils that very h1n1 Swine Flu), that it will not be described as mild. Out of the octagon, sure, it is friendly seeming, it smiles for the camera, it waves. Unfortunately, once the Swine Flu enters the octagan, it will prove to be a serious MMA fighter, savage, and unmerciful.
If the regular, garden-variety "seasonal flu" suddenly cranked up and extended its flu season into June through September, you would not describe that simple "just the flu" as mild. You would be amazed. It would be the most amazing flu since the recording of flu epidemics, let alone pandemics. The flu does not run rampant in Summer. True, someone here and there might come down with the flu in August, but it is irregular.
When the flu spreads to the four corners of the world in the off-season, you better watch out during "the season." The flu comes into its own. It will operate best when it is its best time to operate. This is just simple logic. Common reasoning. Basic sense.
If, on the other hand, the h1n1 Swine Flu turns out to meet up to all the current prophecies, that it is nothing, that it is mild, that it is wimpy compared to the "seasonal flu," well, that is possible, but it is not common sense. That kind of result sounds a whole lot more like wishful thinking. Perhaps Jack's beans really will erupt overnight into a beanstalk which ultimately showers us with gold.
The world is attempting to slap on a "power of positive thinking" to fight the flu, and that is not the way to fight the flu.
If I walk around a Dodge Viper that is sitting against the curb, engine idling, I might say: "Great looking vehicle, but it sure is slow. Wow, I can walk faster than this mean hype, this whole lot of mild car. I mean, I hear the engine, I can actually feel the deep bass voice rumbling in my feet and up my legs. But come on, this is not a fast car. The motor is running, but what? Nothing.
Whoa, look at that Vespa Scooter whirring by, it sounds like an electronic clock, but look how FAST it is roaring! Thus, by my calculations and experience, I can safely say that a Vespa Scooter is much, much faster than a Dodge Viper." In comparison, the Dodge Viper is mild to that fast, fast and slick Vespa Scooter.
Diggeth? The "flu season" is the season for both "seasonal" flu and "h1n1 Swine Flu." The season is the actual race track, and both vehicles are sitting at the starting line. As of mid-November 2009, the race has not begun yet. The flag is up in the air, about to drop.
All those headlines? Those are pre-race hype. Gentlemen? Start your engines.
After the race, perhaps mid-March 2009, we will be able to compare the "seasonal flu" to the "novel h1n1 Swine Flu," and only then will we be able to say which monster vehicle won the race, the turtle or the hare, the Viper or the Vespa.
Read the news. The articles report that the race is over, that Swine Flu is a scooter, and the seasonal flu is a race car. Is this reality, or wishful thinking?
I'm sorry. I guess I'm making negative prognostications, aren't I?
Bad me. But I have a small excuse. I've got the flu, and I just woke up and perhaps I'm not thinking clearly. It is not even 6:00 a.m. yet. And the flu, up close and personal, does not seem so mild, even now before the race has begun.
My teeth hurt. Every tooth is sore. Plus my forehead is tender. Great bags are hanging out just beneath my eyes, and my eyes themselves are blurry (probably my eyes aren't blurry, just my vision, but it does seem that my eyes are blurry). And the flu has just been flirting with my lungs for many hours now.
I felt the first dangerous tremor Tuesday night as I was falling asleep. That was November 17, I believe. Suddenly my asthma flared up. Years ago I was using three potent asthma medicines and knew they were doing more damage than good, I got off them. About seven years ago I found that drinking all-natural apple cider vinegar could control my asthma, that and coffee seems to help (no, I'm not yanking your barrista name tag). And for many years, other than the occasional flare-up, asthma ceased to be a problem. Yes, it is there, but it is in no way a condition that even suggests the need for steroid-laced medicines.
Tuesday night I could almost visualize the little flu viruses descending in slow motion into my lungs, tiny paratroopers, descending to the battlefield, or little scuba frogmen swimming sinuously down, their long frog flippers kicking, as my poor little Army Rangers (on the battlefield) or my Navy Seals (under the water), took their battle stations.
The immediate reaction in my lungs as the bronchial airways began snapping shut like portals as the storm of war approached.
Maybe I was just dreaming.
Wednesday morning, November 18, 2009, I woke with the tell-tale cough. It had arrived in the worst place. H1n1 Swine Flu has received glorious press, almost like a movie star, about the glitter and glow when it takes over the lungs. And as previously mentioned, my lungs have, um, well, issues. Okay, I admit it, it did not help that I smoked cigars from the age of 18 to 38.
Nothing else had changed with the flu. Due to my daily nose flushes, the flu never really was able to establish its HQ in the standard location, the nasal passages. The battle had been going on mostly in the bones, thus the constant achiness in the body, soreness in the chest and shoulders. Prevailing weakness. And lying in bed is no fun, especially after a couple of days of doing nothing else but lying in bed.
I felt the flu was late in arriving in my lungs. Poor little Genny was already developing a very wet cough.
It is very difficult to help a baby that is suffering with influenza, You cannot give them a nose flush (although I've been tempted to try), her beautiful little upturned nose, so perfectly sculpted, is far too small to flush with a bottle, and the nasal passages hidden behind that nose are almost too miniscule to imagine.
Genny receives her gummy vitamins every day, as well as a dose of Sambucus in her soy milk. I actually believe the soy milk itself is a very good medicine for a flu-blasted child.
Other than the watery cough, Genny seems to have rebounded, and her tiny princess body scrambles hobbit-like all about the bed. If I attempt to follow her with my eyes too long, it seems she is teleporting from the hallway to the foot of my bed. Or I could be dreaming it all, my little hobbit princess.
Dirk and Wolf are both fine, although Wolfy worries me somewhat with the mucus build-up. His daily nose flush brings up what appears to be a cup of sickly worm-like mucus, dangling and stretching, dripping down seven inches before it breaks in half like a worm and writhes down the sink drain.
Carolena, my wife, and oldest daughter Bronté (nine years old this Christmas Eve) both have shown no symptoms. They are both getting all their daily vitamins as well as capsule form of both Ginger and Oregano (and if my flu gets any worse than it is, I will break out the "emergency use only" $65 bottle of Oreganol, an investment from about six months ago).
And the vaporizers. I have been maintaining them night and day since Sunday morning.
I have also found that white onions are far the stinkiest (at least compared to tasty yellow sweet onions and dark flavonoid-laced red onions). Slicing up one white onion and placing it in two dishes in one large room engulfs the entire area in a sulfurous cloud. It is quite a lot like taking a bath at a sulfur spring. As I sit here writing at this moment, half a fat white onion sits on a little plate near my Microsoft ergonomic keyboard, just beneath my gigantic face.
Are those sulfurous vapor rising up toward me from the onion, or is it just very happy to see me? That's a good sign, as my sense of humor — what passes for a sense of humor — just flared for a moment.
Wednesday I was sick. I mean I thought about exercising my brain and doing some writing, but I literally lay flat in bed all day (which is bad all in itself, as the spine does not appreciate such a posture). And the Twilight Zone marathon just does not capture me the way the Outer Limits did on Tuesday. Rather, I am more ill today than I was just yesterday (usually I am more a Twilight Zone man compared to Outer Limits).
Definitely no work on Wednesday. No kind of work. By noon Carolena and I are agreed we will have sauerkraut for lunch.
The kids squeal: "Oooh, yuck, sauerkraut for lunch!"
The pigs. The swine. Even for me, sauerkraut is unusual at noon. But I am able to drag myself from bed and get the sauerkraut cooking, in olive oil, with a heavy sprinkling of both Ginger and Oregano, one huge sliced and diced sweet onion, a sprinkling of cinnamon (it tastes better than it sounds), several tablespoons of nutritional yeast, and a big oozing glob of honey, it takes about half an hour to make and cook, with constant flipping and stirring and mixing. And groaning. The groaning is optional, unless you have the Swine Flu, then it is pretty much required.
After eating sauerkraut, I feel great. Probably the best feeling since Monday night. It is gone. The flu is licked. Sauerkraut is the magic bullet, oh yes, and oh my. I do a little dance. But within half an hour my illusory house of glass comes shattering down into my eyes. I still have the flu. I am occasionally coughing.
I call the kids to me and hug them to me, my ear pressed to their chests, one by one. They think it is funny. Papa loves us, and he always hugs us. But I am listening for tell-tale crackling. All their lungs sound good, even Baby Genny Bellies, or as we call her sometimes Genny of Belize.
What is wrong with me, anyway? I am a very strong man. I can shake things off. The flu rarely bothers me. Over years and years it rarely bothers me. But this thing seemingly cannot be shaken off. It is frustrating.
I have not had a significant fever throughout. The highest has been 100 degrees. Hardly a chill. Mainly overall-achiness and weakness, a stuttering cough that does not know if it truly wants to take off or not, or just kind rise and hover off the launch pad, kind of fan out in the lungs, just a tickle. Oh, and the ugliness, do not forget the ugliness. Swine Flu just might be an accurate moniker because you begin to look like a puffy pig.
I turn the television off. It is hard to concentrate, too hard. I connect my iPod to the speakers and begin listening to Jeffrey Archer's Kane and Abel. I'm already halfway through it, and I find that when ill reading is impossible (straightforward reading with the eyeballs), which is unfortunate as I am a constant reader. But listening with the eyes closed is pretty nice. Seemingly, when ill, the imagination is unfettered, it really does work better (perhaps the Bronte's were such excellent storytellers because they were so often ill).
Again, I swear that tomorrow morning, Thursday, I will go into work. Per governmental guidelines, I should not be "catching," as the first fever is long gone. I know that is silly, however, because now would be the time I would be most contagious, right now while it is running rampant in me, the flu, and I am fighting it, and it in its primordial "thinking" knows it could do better in a more appropriate host, the kind of host that does not fight back, the kind of host that merely treats the symptoms while allowing the monster free access to everywhere and everything.
But tucked away in my office at work, I rarely pass within spitting distance of anyone. Maybe it would be okay? I usually feel almost like a normal person between the hours of 10:00 a.m. and about 3:30 p.m.
It seems the body heals and pushes back the flu during the night. Separated from consciousness, the body clicks into maintenance mode, sweeping up the debris, scraping off the graffiti of the day, waxing on and waxing off like a million miniature Miyagis.
When you wake in the morning you feel terrible, because a war has raged in the night while you have slept. But after a while, as the effects of war are shaken off, you feel pretty good, the slate is clean, the battlefield is empty. Hey, perhaps it is over.
Then the flu comes back to take over the territory it lost in the night. It reclaims ground, and by evening you feel the effects of the cytokine war rejoined. Nasty business, war, but it is certainly best to fight the flu, and not just lay back and let it have its way with you.
Green tea all day long, plus several packets of emergen-c, and some fruit juice. Oh, I want toast, but we are out of bread. Cravings for black licorice, the real stuff, with licorice extract and oil of anise, but we are out of that too. And greasy potato chips. I never eat them. Except when I am sick. Then I desperately need them, those greasiest of potato chips, but unfortunately we do not stock those.
I pause Jeffrey Archer to watch King Kong on DVD, and what in the world! It seems as if I have never, absolutely never watched this incredible Peter Jackson movie (despite having watched it three or four times). What a picture of the Great Depression, hey, it is like right now. And a t-rex, Kong is fighting a t-rex, oh every boy's greatest dream, and now two t-rexes, and THREE, and we keep cutting back and forth to a stampede of brontosaurai, and sneaky velociraptors. Is this the best movie ever made, or what? And how come I cannot remember seeing it?
Dastardly flu. Could be good for the DVD business, anyway.
As Kong slips off the top of the Empire State Building, I roll over on my side and sigh. And I am back into sleep again, still sick with the flu, with absolutely no end in sight, the flu twinkles in sickly fluorescent green as the black comes crashing down on the light and Wednesday is gone.
It is over. What a flu, what a flu, what a flu...
