Well

I am well again. More or less. For a whole week, I was flattened by a flu, my bed my kingdom, as I hovered in a state of not caring much about anything, floating, half-asleep, half-awake. I thought absently about how we know it is the will to live that helps people survive in extraordinarily challenging circumstances, and how, if that was the case, I would have perished because I felt too ill, too tired to fight. That frightened me in a distant, hollow way.

While my childhood was punctuated by asthma and bronchitis, and while I have had migraines since I was seventeen plus an annual sinus infection, the fact is that I think of myself as healthy. I have energy, stamina. Falling asleep instantly has long been my superpower. There is no dozing off; I simply hit the wall and fall to sleep instantly. Too often, I feel my eyes closing as we watch TV. In college, we would no sooner order a late night pizza from Yorktown than I would fall asleep, only to eat cold pizza for breakfast. When we lived in Brooklyn in another century, I would routinely lay my head against Seths shoulder and nod off to the rumble of the D train home from Manhattan.

Still, I think of myself as being in good health. Theres the extra 15 pounds I could do without, a creaky knee, shoulders recently recovered from being frozen. I have a temperamental neck that Janette, our massage therapist, keeps in good humor.

Yet, the week before last I contracted the flu. I didnt even know what was wrong with me. My face felt flushed as if my rosacea had flared from my having drunk of a large glass of red wine, but it was 10:00 a.m. at school on a Monday morning. There was no wine in sight. Limping through the day, I did not feel right. Just off. Ill. By mid-afternoon I was in bed, listless, where I remained the next day and the next. Chills, fever, nausea, a wracking cough. Finally, a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia,. Once our pediatrician let me listen to the crackling sound of tin foil in my oldest daughters tiny chestshe hadnt run a fever, so we had missed her bout of pneumonia. But it turns out I didnt have pneumonia after all. Just an impressive case of dehydrationI was shipped off to the ER for intravenous fluids.

There, I watched an older woman, whose feet were hugely swollen, say goodbye to her caretaker. A young coupleshe was pregnant and was the patient, but I couldnt figure out what her situation wasforget HPPAwas right across from me. The waiting was interminable. Weak and disoriented, I felt like a tumbleweed, slipping in and out of sleep, taking little interest in what was happening. I was on the fast track, which meant I sat in a chair in a cubicle without a curtain. Several times, I crept down a corridor to have someone ask me questions, take my blood pressure, draw blood. Finally, a needle got inserted into my tiny rat-like vein (appellation courtesy of the infertility guru who helped us produce our children). The fluids finally began to drip into my arm, and halfway-through, I began to perk up, to feel less out of it, more like myself. My transformation startled meone small bag of fluid and I was a changed woman. I was ready to go home. My husband returned, having left to pick up our son from school. An Amish couple arrived with a wailing infant. The mother and child were taken into the examining room. On my way out, now strong enough to walk to the revolving door unaided, I noticed the young father, in his black hat and dark vest over a deep blue shirt in the same waiting area I had sat in some hours before. I wondered why he hadnt gone to join the young mother. I wondered how often an Amish family comes to the ER. I wondered if Amish babies wear onesies and footie pajamas. I hoped the baby would feel better. I couldnt help thinking that I would have wanted my husband with me as doctors examined any baby of ours.

A few hours later, I was snug in my own bed, drinking water like a fiend. The pain of the coughing had lessened. My doctor explained that the pain had had to do with being so dehydrated. I felt well enough to watch Netflix : first, Grace and Frankie, then This Is Uswholly addicting. I read a few novels. I did not get all the way better for a few more days. I did not like drinking electrolytesPedialite is revolting, even mixed with orange juice. Coffee, my typical beverage of choice, was unappealing. I licked a few crackers. Some chicken soup arrivedhome made by my friend, Sara. It was the best thing I had ever tasted. I wondered how I would ever do normal things again: put on my tights, comb my hair, walk down the stairs, be a mom.

Heres what scared me: in the midst of my week of illness, I surrendered. Though I was not seriously ill, I was shocked by how willing I was to let all my responsibilities drop away. Lassitude didnt feel like a choice but like a pre-determined conditionI had no agency. I, who teach girls to claim their voices, to stand up and be counted, who believe myself to be a devoted mother, ferocious on my childrens behalf, slid onto my pillows, eyes dull, will temporarily extinguished or at least subdued. I did not think about the pets or my children or my husband or my school. I had lost interest.

I feel foolish that something so insignificant as flu was so dramatic, so appreciative that it passed. I feel cross with myself for not being the fighter I always imagined I would be. I think about friends and colleagues who have battled so much worse with courage and determination and dignity. How did they sustain their grace? I feel ashamed of being such a wimp.

Now, restored to health, I am mulling it all over. Im glad to be well again. I hope I would show more fortitude if I am challenged by worse. I was glad to be able to dress myself this morning without a second thought, make pancakes for our son, devour a piece of bacon, and seek coffee.