By 3pm on Wednesday, I knew it was coming. I could feel that soreness in my throat that walks a few steps ahead of its slacker cousins the stuffed up nose and groggy head. I was getting sick.
Dammit.
What started as “oh, I know this feeling…” steamrolled into certainty shortly after dinner. It was no longer a question of whether or not I was getting sick, but instead became about “how sick?” I had spent the day around co-workers and people from the public. I started to worry about what we all worry about with the slightest sniffles – is it COVID? Did I just give everyone COVID? What about that poor old lady who was in the office picking up her taxes?
Wednesday night I took a COVID test. While I waited for the results I read about the differences between COVID, a cold, the flu, and allergies. OK, maybe it’s not COVID – still ten minutes to go. Even if the test is negative, it doesn’t mean it’s not COVID. I remembered a similar logic from when our cat, Murphy, was wasting away. They could do a biopsy but that would only rule in cancer, not rule it out… which I understand but still seems like such a shitty or unfair way to do science or medicine. I kept checking before the time was up… nothing…. nothing… nothing…. and at last… nothing.
Wanting a second opinion, I took another test this morning – still negative. Guess it’s just the garden variety cold. I took a sick day yesterday – except it turned into a work from home day. In fact, I probably worked longer (and more focused) hours than I do when I go into the office. Maybe today I’ll take the sick day I tried to take yesterday. Put a blanket over my head, drink warm liquids, watch Gilligan’s Island, The Price Is Right, McHale’s Navy, and Hogan’s Heroes. I used to think Barker’s Babes were the most beautiful women in the world – I think that was kinda the point. Ginger and Mary Ann were also very attractive… and as I just googled to see how Mary Ann is spelled, I am delighted to see that there’s a Ginger and Mary Ann cocktail (actually several).
It’s been a while since I’ve been sick. The last time that I can remember being sick was in December of 2019. Sometimes I wonder if I had COVID then. The symptoms and timing are about right. I wrote about it here in a post called giving care – which wasn’t at all about how sick I felt, or even really about giving care. It was, instead (like most of my posts from that time), about how being sick reminded me of the little things an ex and I would do for each other. I re-read that post this morning. It never quite got to what I think I was really trying to explore, or perhaps was afraid to admit…
At the risk of channeling Ayn Rand, I sometimes suspect (or worry) that I am not the giving and caring person who I pretend to be. This is one of my versions of imposter syndrome. This suspicion (almost fear or admission) hinges on the very real possibility that I behave the way I do because I’m secretly hoping to be treated the same way. If one believes, or hopes, that what we put out into the world is what we get back, then doing good or being kind can be seen as a selfish act. I sometimes suspect that I care for and about other people because on some deep level that I may not want to admit, I want (or need) the same in return. Of course, the opposite could also be true. Many people choose to see the world as uncaring and indifferent and they, in turn, show indifference. But even this dichotomy is an easy way to feel good about choosing virtue.
The clearest, most honest, example I have of this behavior is when I once picked that same ex up from the airport. I showed up holding a photo collage of us at various events – always smiling. It was supposed to be like the chauffeur holding the sign with the person’s name on it. It was supposed to be a sweet gesture – and I think that’s mostly how I intended it and how it was received. But, looking back years later, I can see a different type of symbolism – I can ask the probing question: was this an attempt to erase the individual in favor of the partnership? I can assure you that thought never crossed my conscious mind, but it’s hard to know where the authenticity begins and ends in an act like that. I also can’t rule out that on some level, I was signaling the way I hoped to be greeted one day. While not a fan of clichéd Hallmark moments, I know I’d like that type of arrival… the one that says I missed you… I’m happy to see you again… welcome home…. How much of what we show someone else, is really intended to be an example of what we want (maybe even expect) in return? Are relationships mostly about teaching each other and negotiating over how we want to be treated? If they can be seen as competitions in generosity, what happens when someone loses?
A little over two years ago I got sick on a Wednesday. I gobbled down Halls with mentholyptus. I snuffled my way through the week and the weekend writing about the holidays and what it felt like to be back in Philly for the first time since leaving. I was feeling the weight of place and the absence of home. Two years and a few months later, I got sick on a Wednesday. I’m gobbling down Halls with mentholyptus. I’m snuffling my way through the day (relieved it’s not COVID). I still think about this strange concept of place and home and the weight of objects from our past. I still have a lot of the same doubts and hopes and questions that I had then – though I think they’re less focused on any one individual or relationship and are more philosophical now. I still like the idea of people caring for each other, and while I may question my motives, it’s often in an attempt to inch ever more closely to the unconditional.