July 5, 2000

Summer sickness nothing to sneeze at

By Garret Leiva
Herald Editor
       After five days of constant congestion and irritation, I'm tired of it already. While others are consuming cherry pies, cherry bratwurst and frolicking in the National Cherry Festival I'm sick -of being sick.
      Summer time, the quintessential block party, and guess who is crashed on the couch with sinusitis?
      Now for most people illness, whether it be influenza, pneumonia or the crud, is tolerated, if not down right expected during the winter months. After all, nothing takes the chill off 10 degrees below zero like a nice low grade fever. Summer sickness, much like a Milli Vanilli reunion, is totally incomprehensible. Sure there are allergies and the occasional food poisoning from Aunt Gertrude's potato salad at the Fourth of July picnic, but summer is usually a sick-free season.
      While sweating in July heat is perfectly natural, sweating in July because of a 102.9 degree fever creates an unhappy prefix to the word natural. Suddenly your whole world is a cruel juxtaposition. Sunbathers lay on the beach soaking up rays, you lay in bed soaking in feverish sweat. Noses are red from sunburns, your nose is red from blowing your schnoz with sandpaper mislabeled as Kleenex. Party-goers down Margaritas, you down Tylenol with a cough syrup chaser.
      Of course, I would have been miles down the road of recovery days ago if not for one thing: I'm a guy. Call it machismo, stoicism, or Y chromosome stupidity, but admitting you're sick is tantamount to confessing you cried while watching "Steel Magnolias" by yourself. In all likelihood my epitaph will read "no really, it's just a cough."
      Succumbing to summer sickness is not a pretty sight. First there is the mental deterioration of brain cells with every sneeze, along with powers of concentration so diminished they would make even a sitcom plot line seem complicated. Then your body starts failing you. Suddenly you're weak as Alfalfa arm wrestling Darla in front of the entire membership of the "He-Man Woman Haters Club."
      When it comes to being sick, everyone seems to have their own area of expertise. Some people can nearly cough up a lung, others sneeze in only three's, while a few select souls have the power of projectile vomit.
      My specialty is high fevers. Taking my temperature in the throws of an illness is comparable to watching a Harlem Globetrotters basketball game: Fever 103.5, Immune system 0. My high fever high point was in 1993 when I drove my 1974 Buick Regal in a snowstorm to War Memorial Hospital with a 105 degree temperature - luckily it was an automatic.
      Unfortunately, in the end there is little you can do about summer sickness besides drink plenty of fluids, take antibiotics three times a day and watch bad television while collapsed on the couch. I've tried reading books, but my weakened spine is no match - even for paperbacks. Instead I stare, mouth slightly agape, at reruns of "Matlock" and matinee showings of "Cannonball Run II." I'm usually fast asleep before the courtroom confession or the pivotal car chase scene.
      The last few mornings, I've awakened face-down in a pool of my own drool after a night of breathing through my mouth. While drooling and panting like a dog are part of my normal bodily functions, being sick in July is not. After all, nothing is more depressing than watching your fever and the heat wave outside reach the same numerical reading.
      So here is my medical advice if you want to steer clear of summer sickness. When you have finished reading these words do the following: Dispose of this page at your nearest neighborhood biohazard recycling center. Wash hands repeatedly. After all, I wouldn't want my night sweats or draining sinuses to rain on anyone's National Cherry Festival parade.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail at gleiva@gtherald.com.