This Little Piggy Went Home

They’re not testing for swine flu anymore. I learned this at the doctor’s office, after they jammed a swab up my nasal cavity and effectively punctured my brain. Apparently, they can still torture you with satanic tests, but they can’t tell you why you’re sick. If they’re not testing anymore, where are the news shows getting all these statistics that say swine flu is the coming of the apocalypse?

When I was healthy, getting sick seemed like fun. A few days to chill on the couch, drink apple juice and watch TV reruns sounds like heaven. When I ended up collapsed in my living room, shaking violently and wearing the same pair of filthy sweat pants for 3 days, it wasn’t such a great time. We need to start taking our sick days when we’re feeling fine. Then they’d be a lot of fun.

When the media first replaced the phrase “swine flu” with “H1N1” I scoffed, but now I understand. Nobody wants to admit they have the swine flu. It sounds dirty and embarrassing. That’s like admitting you get your twisted thrills rolling around in the mud with Miss Piggy. Why don’t we start naming our flus after cool things? Sky Diving Flu has a rebellious edge, and Astronaut Flu sounds just plain cool.

Whatever the flu, though, there’s no way to make the symptoms sound trendy. What were you up to this weekend? Oh, you know, I was just hanging out hacking up putrid mucus and crying pitifully. My list of symptoms pretty much encompassed every awful ache and pain that can accompany an illness. The worst part of the week, however, was my reading choice. Dan Brown’s new thriller The Lost Symbol was more painful than all of my symptoms combined (Wow, that was a snotty joke. Da Vinci Code rules!)

If you ever want to be banished from campus for a week, just mutter “H1N1.” It’s a guaranteed way to make sure people don’t want you around. Want to say no to that date invitation without being awkward? Sorry, I’ve got The Swine. Need a week off of work? Just start coughing and oinking next time you’re in the office.

Getting sick effectively regressed me to the mentality of a first grader. All I wanted to do was watch Nickelodeon shows and have my mom bring me juice boxes. When I was little, I used to watch Little Bear whenever I was sick, and I was ecstatic to find a Little Bear marathon airing on Nick Jr. Little Bear is possibly the most relaxing kid’s show ever produced. For the most part, Little Bear and his buddies meander the forest to a soothing soundtrack. Nothing exciting ever really happens. In one episode, Little Bear sets an entire table—napkins, forks, plates, the whole ordeal. In real life, I would never watch somebody set a table, but if an animated bear is setting the places then I’m mesmerized. In the end, Little Bear is more calming than a meditation session.

After about three days of germ-induced isolation, I realized my social circle had shrunken to include just me and my tabby cat, Tobias. As fun as Toby is, he doesn’t make the best conversation. By the end of the week, my brain became a pile of mush. When I was finally free to come back to campus, I was ecstatic to dive into the piles of schoolwork waiting in my dorm. After finishing the first paragraph of one essay, I was ready to get sick again.

So I’m back just in time to see everyone else leave with their own sicknesses. I was a pioneer of the Elmhurst flu season, but unlike starting a fashion trend, this basically just ostracized me from society. In the end, I’m not sure exactly what sort of sickness I had. For now, I’m just calling it Rock Star Flu.