“Kid, you got shit in your blood.”
Dad’s medical assessment of his son.
From first to fifth grade, I was usually sick around 2 weeks a year. Once in December, and once in February. I was prone to bad colds/flu. Very sore ears, sore throat, clogged nose, hacking and coughing.
I went to bed with a chest full of Mentholatum, smelling like an obscene hospital room. The really crazy thing was I said I felt better wearing a stocking cap over my ears. Then came the first humidifier. The thing was loud, but I was so dosed with drugs to notice. But the tank ran dry midway through the night, so it beeped and I had to yell for mom to come up and fill it.
They must have decided that I needed more help, so I graduated to a more expensive quieter one that could last through the night. This machine had a red light that told you it was working. The damn light spooked the crap out of me. It was as bright 2001’s “Hal.” No, it didn’t ask ‘Will I Dream?’.
The routine went thusly: Dad splits for work, mom wakes me, takes my temp, feeds me fresh pills, maybe a little toast before she left. Then I’d get in their bed and go back to sleep. She’d write up my times for more pills and put a lunch sandwich in the fridge.
These days of pain had two positive lingering effects: First, out of desperation (probably) mom offered hot tea, her poison of choice. So I began drinking hot and cold tea, a habit still ingrained on my soul after 60 years.
The other consequence was that big ‘hi-tech’ radio behind their bed. I couldn’t sleep all day, so I’d fiddle with the tuner. Lo and behold, I found rock and roll–the devil’s music.
But let’s not go there now………Let me introduce you to my doctor/my godfather next time.