Ode to a Cold Enemy

If I exhibit only a few of the minor side effects of the medications my doctor just prescribed, I will have nasal congestion, dizziness, drowsiness, sleeplessness, headache, upset stomach, nausea, diarrhea, high blood pressure and to put it all home, weight gain. I had all of those before I went to the doctor. In my delirium, I went to the doctor to have those symptoms relieved.

Is there something comforting about suspecting that my symptoms are now drug induced rather than because I am ill? That they are only temporary and will abate when I finish the medications?

There is very little good and very much bad about succumbing to the currently circulating, in vogue winter illness. This year I was prepared. I stocked up on tissues treated with aloe and touted to be softer than a baby's bottom. A baby without the winter flu I presume. My kitchen was stocked with zinc, C, natural throat lozenges also with zinc and C, orange juice and herbal teas.

My meds cabinet held my favorite holistic nasal swabs that "you use at the first sign of a cold to keep your cold under control". In the three years I have used them, my colds have only been minor. Before discovering them, my hyperactive immune system laid me out for weeks. I fear this is a laid-out-for-weeks cold.

Because of all my overly swollen tissues, the kind in my lungs and nose not the ones in the box, my doctor put me on steroids. I guess my professional baseball career is over. However, since I am a fifty plus woman I guess it was already over a long time ago. Maybe I can use this time that I am sick to get crafty. I could come up with a wonderful way to decorate plastic grocery bags with tissue paper to give as get well gifts to folks who are sick. Just think, pink and white tissues crunched like roses each held delicately with a dot from the cold glue gun adhering them to the sides of the bag. Dispenser and trash receptacle all rolled into one.

Unfortunately, I would have no one to give them to. People visit sick people only when they have problems like heart surgery, kidney transplant or preferably a broken leg. Those are heroic problems that are not contagious. No one comes to visit you when you have a cold. At best they offer to pick something up for you and leave it by your door because they are afraid they may wake you up.

Besides, most people have already had this crud. My doctor informed me this was the thing he was seeing before the holidays. In fact I was that last one in my family to come down with this stupid cold. Precisely the reason that by the time I came down with it on Christmas Eve when all the stores closed early, all of the soft tissues where gone and only the boxes of mildly above sandpaper were left. All the lozenges, zinc and C were gone, all the holistic nasal swabs were gone as well as the herbal teas and was reminded that I had forgotten to buy D. I was arrogant and above hope thinking that this one was going to pass me by, someday one has to.

The story of my life, always the last to get what is in vogue or be in the know. I normally don't give a hoot. Maybe I should since being sick during and after "the holidays", meaning I am wasting off-time. Those people smart enough to get sick before the holidays, when one should, can stay at home and do some holiday planning maybe even eking out an extra sick day to do a bit of Christmas shopping while buying more tissues and orange juice. They are well prepared and perky for the celebration, I just feel old and sick and watch more TV each sick day than I did the total preceding year.

The worst thing about being over fifty and sick is that I am afraid that my face won't come back. My non-sick face has weathered its half-century acceptably but it is starting to get to that point where I might soon start "looking old". When I have a bad cold, I look catastrophic, at best at the verge of death. My eyes sink deeper, the bags get darker, my wrinkles become vats, my less-supple-than-a-few-years-ago upper lip becomes thick and stiff, red, flaky, callused and hairy. Let's face it who wants to pluck excess facial hair from an already painfully abused area. I pity men with colds, young or old, as shaving a raw upper lip must be painful and a manly mustache is not a great alternative.

The other yucky age associated absurdity is that you cannot cough up that horrid mucus without wearing your glasses. You have got to know what color the stuff is and whether or not it is streaked with blood. Well without my glasses I might be able to get it in the tissue and maybe even get in the ball park of color but checking for streaks of blood with out reading glasses is out of the question. To make it worse, my eyes and head hurt too much to read so I don't even know where my glasses are.

I am assuming that this torture will be over in a few days. I am using my stocking stuffer exotic skin lotions to try and coax my face back to normal. I know it will take longer than in previous years. My doctor said to call him if I don't get better. What? To prescribe more side effects...

Seeing God - 100% true story

God's hand shows up at the most unexpected times. Obedience has its rewards.

We thought she had already used up her nine lives. We found out last night she had at least one more saved up.

Last February, we live-trapped Zoe Cat. She was filthy, starving, half-grown, 99% feral and living under a dumpster. Nine months later, we have a gorgeous 99% tamed, fluffy kitty. (go to www.agapehands.com "Resources" page to see her picture)

Last night we thought we would loose her. It had been a busy Sunday. I threw a Happy Birthday Jesus party for the kids in my Sunday School class. They showered me with wonderful munchies and other gifts. Little was I to know Mary gave me a Christmas gift that would save Zoe's life. (yes her name REALLY is Mary!)

Later that evening, we returned home after a successful presentation of the Children's Christmas Play. I was pooped. I was the drama director. I saved a good book just for this occasion.

I read, relaxed, moved on to get groggy and when the book got to the line where the author mentioned kittens and pj's, I dozed off for a few seconds... Time for bed.

I got up from the sofa and started looking for the gift Mary had given to me; a lovely book marker; an angel on satin ribbon decorated with bells.

I thought I had put it in the dining room. I walked in there to see Zoe Cat eating a piece of tinsel. One shiny part was sticky out her mouth. Zoe still freaks if you try to grab her so I decided the tinsel wouldn't hurt her and let it go. Then it struck me that we didn't have any tinsel. Years ago I deemed it more mess than beauty.

Fortunately because I had been reading, I was wearing my glasses. I bent closer to see what she was eating. She half gagged, half swallowed trying to keep me from getting her prize. I saw the end of a sewing needle disappear into her mouth.

I knew if she swallowed it, it would probably kill her without surgery. It was Sunday night, no vets at the clinics. Balances of cost and cat life teetered in my brain. Zoe gagged and drooled. I grabbed her.

The 99% tame cat turned wild against my grip. When you forcefully grab a cat, you either hold it or you don't. There is no in-between.

I forced her mouth open. Not an easy task when she was trying to bite off my fingers. I screamed for my husband to bring a towel.

Zoe gagged and growled. There was hope. If she was gagging, maybe I could see it in her throat.

Hubby securely held her legs in a towel. I used both hands to hold open her mouth. I caught a glimpse of silver on her palette. The needle lodged against the roof of her small mouth. I screamed for needle nose pliers.

Zoe struggled to free herself from my vise grip. Roaring, she repeatedly tried to close her mouth on me, her teeth whacked the pliers. I feared they would shatter because of the force of her slashing. I screamed for my son to get a wooden spoon. Tim the Jack Russell wanted to help. He was quickly evacuated.

Wooden spoon securely wedged across the back of her mouth, I pried at the needle with the pliers. Zoe thrashed. Better to rip her palette than have the needle go down into her stomach and puncture her innards. Missed. One more try. I thought I had the needle loose when Zoe almost got loose. The spoon came out, her mouth closed. She drooled and gagged. She wretched.

The end of the needle stuck a half inch out of her mouth. I grabbed it. The cat struggled. I held on loosening the needle from her clamping teeth. Along with it came a foot long piece of swallowed thread. Freed from our "attack" Zoe ran.

If I had not found Zoe at the precise moment that I did, I may never have know she had a problem until she set up with infection from a perforated stomach. If one of the elements of the story had not been set, then the story would have been changed.

The elements of the story were set.
* In September, I accepted the position of Sunday School teacher.
* Mary and/or her parents offered a gift for Christmas, because I was her teacher.
* They got me a book marker.
* I was tired from directing the Christmas play and retreated to start a new book. (Ironically, unbeknownst to me, it is a mystery involving saving injured animals). I fell asleep at the part about kittens.
* I woke and went to get a book marker, Mary's gift.
* I found the cat in the room where I had thought I had placed the gift. (it wasn't there)

Oh, by the way. This morning Zoe is back to 99% tame. Maybe she knew we were helping. We rejoiced and chatted about having to save the cat's life again...My son's comment, "Yes, her life was hanging on a thread." Touche!

Thank you Lord.

In case you are wondering how the needle got there: No one had been sewing for weeks. Evidentally the needle fell out of the sewing drawer when someone was going for scissors, or maybe the thread was hanging out and Zoe pulled the needle out playing with the thread.