Most people can feel a cold coming on for days. There's that nasty tickle in the back of the throat, the beginnings of a stuffy nose or the start of a mild cough.
Not me.
Whenever a cold strikes, it's a sudden storm-the-beach assault by a legion of nasty viruses looking for someone to beat up. In a matter of hours, I am down for the count, losing the battle and not caring that the enemy's winning.
Luckily, I don't get sick very often and I'm back to normal in a day or so.
The trade off for not being sick long is that for those 24 hours, I feel like I've been mauled by a Mack truck that not only ran over me but then put that 18-wheeler into reverse and came back to finish the job.
My fever spikes, I ache all over and I'm hot and cold. But no matter how bad I feel, I always follow the same routine for getting over the crud quickly.
First, make room on the couch because staying on the couch is more comfortable than staying in bed.
With a cold washcloth on my head, a box of tissues hugged close to my chest and the remote control in my right hand, I become one with the couch while the battle rages.
I don't want to talk to anyone. I want to be left alone with reruns of "I Love Lucy" and doze on and off until the cold or tummy virus runs its course.
The couch is where my sons camped out when they were sick, and they coped with being stuck on the couch quite differently than their mother.
They liked being pampered. I remember tucking blankets around them, getting their favorite pillow from their room and then constantly refilling water glasses and taking their temperature every hour because they were all was convinced their fever was high enough to require an emergency trip to the hospital.
And of course there was the moaning and groaning – them from the couch, me from the kitchen fulfilling their coughing request for a grilled cheese sandwich – cut in thirds, please – with chicken noodle soup and crackers or fruit and cubes of cheese, all served on their favorite tray.
This scenario only happened, of course, when they were really sick because all three of my sons tried to worm their way out of going to school at least once a week.
"Mom," they'd croak from their rooms. "I'm sick."
"Are you bleeding?"
"No."
"Are you throwing up?"
"No."
"Then get dressed," I'd yell back to them. "You're going to school."
I'm sure that sounds mean, but I'd been duped by boys who tried every trick in the book to skip school. Over the years, I learned that my darling angels were sneaky.
My boys knew how to hold the thermometer close to the light bulb or run the thermometer under hot water when I was out of the room.
They knew to only spike the mercury to 100 – just enough to stay home for a day but not high enough to miss any real fun.
The fake act that usually works is the stomach ache. It's hard to judge for sure if a teenager is lying about a stomach ache. But let's face it – if they say they're too sick to eat ice cream or Lucky Charms for breakfast, then they're really sick.
Having sons who faked being sick is where I first came up with the couch as the best place to recuperate. They thought it so I could pamper them while they were in the throes of acute illness.
The real reason was to keep an eye on them, both to make sure they weren't faking; and, if they really were sick, to watch over them until they felt better. I also told them they'd get better faster if they rested up on the couch.
So a few days ago, when my head started throbbing, the coughing started and I ached all over, I knew it was time to hibernate in the best spot for recuperating – the couch. And in 24 hours, I was as good as new.
Couch time – the best medicine around.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.
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