I was going to write this column about Wendy and me and our baby. Don't worry everyone, nine months is almost up. So you won't have to hear my rantings much longer. Besides I do have at least one more column to come out before Wendy is scheduled to have the baby, so watch out.
Today, I want to talk about something even more dramatic and that is being ill. This past week I obtained something going around the office that just grabbed me and sucked out my will to live-as they say in the movies.
Being ill is for the birds. That is why I don't go to the doctor that often, because if I go, I know I will end up sick. I am not much for doctors. Nurses are a different story-just kidding, honey.
I have only felt unholy illness and pain a few times in my life. The first of which was the years right up to the second grade when I was sick all the time because some Einstein couldn't figure out that I needed to have my tonsils out.
I basically went through the rest of my youth unscathed. A few things here, a few things there. Nothing too major.
Then there was my trip to Mexico in the summer of 1992. The remarkable trip to Mexico filled with all the delights a young, handsome, sauve young man like myself and his friends could desire. Mexico is a beautiful country, but the one drawback believe it or not, is it's so dang hot. The people we were staying with served boiling cactus on a hot summer evening. But it is alright, my frosty beverages kept me cool.
But the point of my Mexico trip is that while I was there for two weeks, both my friend and I became ill.
When they tell you they do things grandiose in Mexico you do because I became ill in a big old-fashioned way. They told me it was some kind of parasite (or varmit) that we had eaten from uncooked meat or bread products. Yes, people, I have a "bug man" living inside me. But the good news is my friend does also. The bright spot to all this is that bug man will stay sound asleep inside the recesses of my warm belly never to harm me again.
It was an absolutely horrible experience being sick in Mexico. I forget what it was called, but we basically had to drink what amounted to an IV in a bottle to help us get better. They had to take me to the hospital in Mexico, which is another great experience. I can remember going in, laying down on a table, getting this shot that sent this indescribable warm feeling through my body, going out into the car and waking up six hours later in a church, at a wedding we were scheduled to go to, feeling good. I remember burning up, almost dying with fever in the arms of a beautiful young woman who looked like Maria Conchita Alonso.
After Mexico, I basically just caught the odd and end colds. Then a couple of years ago, I had one of the most ghastly experiences I am sure ever recorded happen to me. I had to have my gallbladder taken out.
You want to talk about pain. It was Memorial Day weekend and I tell you I couldn't breath, stand-up straight, laydown or walk right. Some how I was able to drive myself to the doctor's office in excruciating pain one has when their gallbladder goes haywire. I compare it to God's way of letting men know what childbirth is like.
Just when I thought my true Aztec warrior, Greek chiseled, Superman body had endured every possible ordeal a man of my youth could take, I get this latest assault thrown at me. Why are the great people such as myself so tested? I don't know! I look at it as a character builder.
What is this you might be asking? It is an ailment for one reason or another the gods have struck me with, nearly taking out this great warrior of the Lower Valley in his prime. It brought me to my knees in ways I don't even want to talk about.
There I was dying in bed, missing my boys' first day of school, running to the restroom of every five minutes and in the mean time trying to get some much needed rest.
I am not one for taking sick days or time off, unless it is vacation. I am a big believer in the team concept and everyone has a job to do and I feel bad when I am unable to do mine.
I was having very high temperatures to go along with my bouts of nausea and dizziness. The high temperatures I am sure led to some of the weirder dreams I had. One of the dreams, which isn't too weird, was that while I laid in bed, I dreamt that I was having a high fever and sweating buckets while I was wrapped up in a blanket. Then I would be cooler when the blanket was off.
But no matter what they tell you it is impossible to get rest when you are sick. I had crucial stories that needed to get done at work. My children were starting school. My wife, who is taking care of her humbled husband, is nine months pregnant and she is showing the power and determination of a very caring wife. I would have surely been left to curl up on the road side to be left as a side of carcass without her.
The most fun part of my week actually began Saturday. My son plays Grid Kids and they had an afternoon game in Grandview. Two things here. I don't want to be outside and I certainly don't want to have to drive to Grandview. But I couldn't let Tyler down. He had been waiting for the big game.
So, here I am for two hours, not moving a bit because I was afraid of becoming ill while my little warrior took the field of battle.
Then the week got better as Tyler started his paper route. I have been taking my lunch hours and stuff to help him get to know his route, but when it is a 100 degrees outside and one is on there death's bed, there is no fun going on for good, old dad.
Do I know why, even though I don't get sick that often, the times when I do get sick are nothing short of a Broadway production? Perhaps I just like to do things grandiose.
One thing is for sure, though, I hate being sick.
. Mike Kantman can be contacted at (509) 837-4500, or email him at firstname.lastname@example.org