I’ve been sick for the past few days. To tell the story of my sickness I have to take you back in time.
*Starts Fog Machine*
Thousands of years ago…before Sigourney Weaver (Reference)
When I was a kid, I had almost perfect health, that was until I started getting sore throats on a monthly basis. I was in Guyana, in High School and I remember going to the Doctor, escorted by my Grandmother. I started to lie about having them because i hated needles and everything that they stood for but I couldn’t hide the pain and visit after visit yielded the same results. I had chronic tonsil infections and they would have to be removed.
The saving grace of coming to the U.S. was that I didn’t have to get the procedure done in the Caribbean. (Thank the Goddess, she is great) but in the rigmarole of getting my Visa, I was stuck at the Doctor who operated from a room on the first floor of his house.
I came to New York on a cold winter’s night and my throat was not pleased with the series of decision-making that led me to cold, damp air. It promptly reminded me that I was nothing when I was in its clutches but my Mother was not having it. Not for a second.
The second sore throat prompted a visit to a Specialist and within a month, I was scheduled for surgery. Apparently, the recurring infections had started to damage my throat and they were sure that the surgery wouldn’t be as simple as usual. Great. Now, all I had to do was try to not have a sore throat till my surgery date or they would have to move it.
My Mother woke me up early the day of my surgery so that I would have enough time to be anxious and still get ready. It’s funny to me that she never acknowledged my anxiety until I told her about it in my adult years but she made exceptions nevertheless. She made sure I was wearing clean, new underwear (The importance of good underwear is never lost on me) and we headed out.
I was scared out of mind.
The best part of the surgery was how friendly all of the Doctors and Nurses were. I was in that unique place in-between being an asshole teenager and a good kid so they seemingly bent over backwards to make sure that I had nothing to worry about.
The last thing I remember was joking with the anesthesiologist. He asked me how long I think it would take for me to fall asleep. He speculated that I would not get from 90 counting backwards from 100. I doubted it. I was tough and had to take lots of pain medication for this issue so I fancied that I had a “high tolerance” for pain killers. I’d never been put under though.
The last number I remember saying was 97.
I woke up in the evening (we will talk about how I woke up briefly during surgery later). I could not feel my tongue, my throat was non-existent until the drugs wore off and I was whisked out of the door and into a Cab by my other who didn’t even give my body the chance to acclimate to its surroundings much less, start to hurt.
I remember sitting on the couch speculating the existence of God after the pain hit. It was the first time in my young life that I had felt true, physical pain. My Mother keep reminding me that this was one great torment to end the little torments and I was renewed. I could do it, it would mean never having to deal with tonsillitis again.
And while I have had sore throats since, I’ve never had any real kind of pain in my throat.
Last Thursday morning. I woke up for work and could not swallow. I was instantly transported back to my childhood and I struggled to remember what was happening. It seemed like a cruel joke; it was persistent, familiar and I knew it well. I tried to dismiss it as a really extreme case of the cold / sore throat but my Friday morning, there was no need to lie to myself. The terror had returned and I was Doctor bound.
So; I have a throat infection. It sucks. I’ve been constantly drugged up and I’ve taken a liking to the Hoddy Toddys my Husband have been making me with Ole’ Nassau Rum from the Bahamas. With my Mom out-of-state, this is the closest I’ll get to her as she brought the Rum back for my Husband when she went on Vacation but there are some illnesses that make you want your Mother and for me, this is it.
I asked a friend in the medical field why Hoddy Toddy’s work and he said he wasn’t sure but it was one of the few home remedies that did. I’m not sure I care about the why of it; I’m just happy that it does.
Don’t know what a Hoddy Toddy is? It’s a warm beverage made with Tea, Lemon Juice, Honey and Brandy/Whiskey/Rum. Most don’t use tea. (We don’t) Without the tea, it’s more concentrated and of course more of a shot than a drink.
Please look up recipes for this; they are abundant online and this is the season for sickness.
Instructions: Combine ingredients. Warm. Serve.
I follow it up with 1-2 spoonfuls of honey as I don’t like mine particularly sweet.
See you awesome folks later. Time for me to get back under my mountain of blankets and watch Scooby Doo and the Monster of Mexico.