Pain is a Choice, but Also, a Necessity.

On Friday afternoon, I felt a little sore throat. You know, the kind where it’s randomly only sore on one side? It was mid-afternoon, and I figured it was allergies, so I took Claritin and kept moving. It persisted. I drank a lot of water and mostly ignored it. We took a family temperature reading at bedtime with the boys because we thought at least one of them was warm. I was at a pretty standard 97.3°F. Because of the Claritin and it being Friday, Leen and I crashed at about 9:30 p.m. 

I had a dream that culminated in me having to ascend from the bottom of the ocean following my boat capsizing, and that woke me up because I constantly fear getting the bends (thanks, Radiohead). When I woke, I woke freezing cold. I was sweating. I attributed a lot of the discomfort to the dream. The ocean really freaks me out, and I’ve recently watched a documentary about free-diving that I would only recommend if you want to cry (The Deepest Breath). The only part of my discomfort I couldn’t pin on the dream state was the sore throat, which, again, I’d already felt hours earlier. So I didn’t do anything to treat it. 

But you know how when you start thinking about breathing, it suddenly becomes weird to breathe? Or when you notice that you only use one nostril at a time to inhale, your body switches to the other one when it’s fatigued, and all of a sudden, that nostril is crazy-blocked. It was like that but with swallowing. It was now like 11:30 p.m., and I was focused on swallowing. 

I Am Sick

What if I try to swallow like this? No.

What if I try to swallow on that side? No.

What if I try not to swallow? No. 

Suddenly, I couldn’t stop swallowing. And each time I did, the pain got worse and worse. 

After about 20 minutes of this game, I decided to head downstairs and grab the thermometer from Eliot’s room.

Lo! and behold, I was at 103.4°F! How quickly the tables had turned on my health. 

I spent the rest of the night waking up about every forty minutes in throat agony. It felt like I had a small mail slot in my neck that draining saliva was getting stuck in and irritating my throat. Then came the headache. Then came the aches. By the time Eliot came to find me, as he usually does sometime between 5 and 6, I was in rough shape. He and I headed downstairs to the basement to watch TV around 6, and I lay in a heap on the floor while he watched a captivating ASMR marble video on YouTube. I texted Leen the details of my night so she knew what she was walking into upon waking up. She came down a bit later and sent me to bed. And I basically lay in bed all day Saturday and all day Sunday. 

We were convinced it was strep because, I mean, what else could it be? By Sunday afternoon, the fever had mainly subsided, and by the time I went to the doctor for a strep test around 4 p.m.. I was fever-free. The doctor looked at my mouth and said, “Oh yeah, that’s red, and there are a few white dots.” At this point in the 1990s, most doctors would have just given me Amox and gotten me out of the clinic. But now we like to test everything. Let’s just make sure. 

So she swabbed my throat and ran the test, and we waited. And wouldn’t you know it: NEGATIVE. No strep present. Well, shit. Now what?

She recommended I do some saltwater gargling. 

So that’s what I did. I gargled. And I hoped. 

I worked a half day on Monday because capitalism never sleeps or takes days off, and I fully expected to hit Tuesday well-rested and recovered. 

Tuesday, however, was the worst day for the throat aches. The tea that I’d drank in previous days offered no salve. The Gatorade I consumed to give me something other than water now worked as an agent of pain: no food, no drink, just agony. 

I was in a dark place on Tuesday, so much so that I forgot both boy’s backpacks for school drop-off. Two things go into school drop-off: The children and the bags. It was a big miss to leave 50% of the required items next to the door on the way out. 

When I discovered my error and expressed frustration about dropping them off again for each child, Eliot said, “Why did you forget my backpack, papa?” and I said, “Why do you think?” 

First, he suggested it was because I was a crazy man, which may be. But then I pressed him and asked, “Is there any other reason you think I would have forgotten?” He paused briefly and said, “Is it because you’re sick?” 

In my sickness, anger, and frustration (I just wanted to drink a cup of coffee, you know?), I just spaced on what was needed. 

Anyway, I went to bed on Tuesday and was very mad and in pain, but thankfully, I woke up on Wednesday feeling… better. Well enough to drink a cup of coffee and eat a meal at least. And we took the win!

Today, there are moments where it still aches a bit. Pangs of pain, but I am on the mend for the most part. 

I thought a lot about the phrase “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy” while I was sick and concluded that this is something I most assuredly would wish on my worst enemy. This bug was terrible, and I suffered. And when I think about my worst enemy, this is precisely the ailment I want them to suffer from. I was irritable, weak, absent-minded, absent, and just uncomfortable. May all your enemies feel as bad as I did this weekend and earlier this week. 

Good day.