It's Not Easy Being Sick

Now, I'd like to be telling you about watching the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. Or perhaps the lighting I attended at Lincoln Center. But, alas, I am in bed. Have been for three days.

In college, when I was even less patient than I am now, I had a serious bronchitis about this time of year. I was a nursing student at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, so they sent me to the infirmary for observation. Unlike the hospital, the infirmary had all the leftovers from the 1950s: white iron headboarded beds with handcranks, bedside stands the size of an orange crate with no drawers. It was like being on the set of The English Patient.

The chaplain, knew all of us because he saw us on the hospital units in our starched-like-a-board student uniforms, nursing cap and sturdy white shoes and stockings. Father Murtagh, probably 40 at the time, came into my 8-bedded room to see how I was doing.
"I'm miserable," I whined. " I can't stand not being in the dorm with the rest of the girls. At least I could be playing bridge."
And then the classic adolescent battle cry: "THERE'S NOTHING TO DO."


"Mary Catherine," he said with a bit of an Irish accent. "The sign of an educated woman is one who knows how to use her time alone well."

Tough to argue with that.

Every time I'm sick, running low on patience, imagining what I could be doing if not confined to my boudoir, I think of the Irish chaplain, who I imagine is no longer alive. I wonder if he knew how his wisdom would prevail for 40+ years.

So, I'm trying to use my time well. Or, perhaps, I'm trying to not hate these days of solitude. It's not so bad. Yesterday, the woman who took my grocery order at Zingone's, my local Italian green grocer ( they deliver-- well everyone delivers in New York, but they deliver in a reasonable period of time ) commiserated with me about how awful it was to be sick. At the end of my list of groceries, she added: "By the way, I'll throw in some lemons--you should be having lemons and honey--take the scratch right out of that throat."

My time is spent watching re-runs of Law and Order and intermittantly during the day ( and night ) turning on the shower for 15 minutes until the apartment is foggy with steam so that my ailing bronchi can dilate--and I can breathe through my nose for a change. Comfort food has pretty much prevailed. I've consumed a pint of Haagen Das Vanilla Yogurt, a box of vanilla Snackwells, and several packets of hot chocolate. My evening "treat" is a Corona Light and popcorn with Brian Williams. How pitiful is that?

My neighbor emailed me today and asked if I wanted to go out for awhile which was very kind. Ordinarily, I'd be out the door. We always have a good time. But, today, I emailed him and took a raincheck. I don't have the energy to have fun. And, by the way, it's 30 degrees outside.

So, solitude, a different notion than loneliness, is my drug of choice right now.

Tomorrow I go see the doctor. Originally, it was for a flu shot. But, since the flu has struck, I plan on establishing a relationship with him since I have no doctor in town.

Now that my blinding sinus headache has subsided, I'm going to start reading Thomas Mann's Death in Venice for my fiction writing class. I think Father Murtagh would sanction that activity, don't you?
M.C.