7:39 This Morning

Breathing hurts.

From my raw, oozing nose past my inflamed throat to my sore diaphragm (thank you, “productive” cough), every millimeter of my respiratory system smolders with pain. Not to be ignored, my eyes feel as if my brain is trying to pop them out of my skull like two giant zits. I won't ever go into the body aches and weird noises my stomach keeps making.

I could not help getting this cold, or any other that passes my way. When you work in a school, you get used to being treated as a human Kleenex. The kids sneeze into their hands and then want hugs, smearing their tainted mucus all over you. No matter how much time you spend on teaching the kids to cough into their elbows, they just open their mouths and bark like croupy seals. One of our first grade teachers joked once that we work so hard to try to get this kids to use tissues and hand sanitizers and just plain soap that we should ditch No Child Left Behind and work toward No Cold Lurking Around. Teaching to that test would at least cut down on the number of sick days. Accountability would be measured in petri dishes, not bubbled-in pages. Most of us would be able to breathe from September to June.

This particular virus made itself known in my body about five days ago. To be fair, I was waiting for this one to strike. Two weeks ago a kid sneezed in my face as I leaned over to help him with his spelling. When I asked him, “What do you say?” hoping for a semi-sincere apology, the little darling replied, “I need a tissue.” The virus as it presented itself in the kids seemed mild – a light cough, some spectacular sneezes, and that constant sniffling because none of the kids seem to know how to blow their noses.

Seriously. I once asked a parent why her child let his nose run until the snot was dripping into his mouth and onto his desk. I should not have been shocked when she asked, “You mean, he's big enough to blow his nose by himself?”

The kid was ten years old.

But I digress. When I felt that tell-tale tickle at the back of my throat, coupled with a renewed sense of needing to fall asleep at lunch, I figured I could ride this one out. The kids all seemed to be fine after a few days. I'm tough. I get my flu shot every year. So when I woke up plastered to my pillow, thanks to stuff oozing from every orifice in head, I knew then that there was no such thing as an easy ride with this bug. My doctor diagnosed a both sinus and double ear infection and sent me home with lots of prescriptions.

I've been home for two days now. Despite the promise of beautiful spring weather, I've kept the shades drawn to help with the headaches. I keep track of the time only so I know when to take the horse pills that smell vaguely of mildew. Sitting up gives me no rest, lying down brings on the coughing. The only bright spot in my life is the thought that the liquid diet I'm on for the duration may result in some weight loss. Or so I tell myself as the condensed soup heats up.

In short, breathing not only hurts, it makes me want to curl into a ball of misery.

And I am so glad I'm still gasping and coughing.

My commute is usually tedious but fairly predictable. I've learned over the years that I have to be starting my car's engine at exactly twenty-one minutes before eight in the morning to get to work on time. My husband often jokes that you could set an atomic clock by the regularity of my key sliding into the ignition of my Honda. If I had been healthy today and heading off to work, at 7:39 this morning I would have been buckling up in the driver's seat.

Which means I would have been killed instantly instead of putting the car in reverse.

The reporters on the TV news look annoyed as they talk in their microphones, smiling ruefully as they point to the smoldering remains of my car. They did not understand why I refused to go on camera, even though some of them saw my two-day case of bed head and my ratty bathrobe.. They do not understand that I do mind having the world see me in that condition. The police and firefighters have been very kind, as have the people who showed up from NASA with their hazmat suits and Geiger counters. My husband was scared and worried at first, for who knows if a meteorite the size of a washing machine flattening your wife's car is covered by insurance. After he Googled how much meteorites can be worth, he stopped caring about the deductibles and started planning vacations. Right now, he's alternating between tedious paperwork and pipe dreams.

I can't seem to get all that worked up about any of it, except for the timing. The band on my watch had broken on my way home the day I got sick. I left it in the car because I was not going to a jeweler to get it repaired until I got better. The watch was intact when the NASA team found it in the wreckage, its hands forever frozen to the time of impact.

The watch read 7:39.

Breathing may hurt, but I was still doing it at 7:40 this morning. That's all that matters now.

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