There's a Fly in my Creme Bruleé

Author: Katie Hylas

Well, I thought I would be able to avoid it this year - Chronic Death. Yes, I have it. Perhaps some of you have it as well. Only the first week into school last year, I was inflicted by the first of many colds I would acquire in the petri dish otherwise known as Battell. I found myself dripping and sniffling through most of the ice-breaking activities but I was still looking to leave decent impressions. So, I was fairly occupied most of the time trying to hide my disgusting self from my potential friends.

I think I was sick the entire year last year. If it wasn't mono, it was bronchitis or the flu or at least a generic asthmatic disaster. Eventually, my Chronic Death rendered me permanently clad in an all gray sweat suit, smelling like Robitussin and shaking because of my inhalers. My meals were delivered to me as if I was a lepera - wrapped up sandwich from the dining hall was my only ration. I found myself leaving only to beg the health center for a cure, although they would inevitably send me away with only Advil/Tylenol and gargling salt.

This year I came to school prepared. I have an entire Rubbermaid box devoted to germ prevention and management. It contains 250 Multivitamins, 200 Calcium +D pills, 135 Ibuprofens, 450 Vitamin C tablets, 70 Zinc tablets and my new favorite daily pill - Omega-3 (AKA Fish Oil). On top of that I invested in immune defense fizz tablets, immune defense cereal, sucking candies, nose sprays and various decongestion tools and pills. I bought so many pills that my mother decided that supporting my efforts to remain healthy was no longer her financial responsibility.

So, today I find myself impoverished and no healthier for it. I spent the majority of the time I was supposed to be in class this morning hovering tentatively outside the door waiting for a fit to pass - sweating and shaking violently. So disturbed were my peers whenever they heard me honking and howling as I walked into class they all turned to lay eyes upon the creature. It's embarrassing to be sick all the time, you become "that girl" that people are afraid to sit next to because you will probably spray them with projectile mucus.

My sacrifices for the sake of health were innumerable. First of all, the fish pills inevitably result in fish burps. I have to run to Atwater Dining Hall after every morning round and fill up my stomach so it doesn't reject the many pills. I've even been skipping homework if it gets too late to finish it. Clearly my efforts have been unsuccessful.

I thought it could be avoided, but apparently nothing can stop the onset of perpetual sickness. So for all of you similarly afflicted students, embrace the Chronic Death. Dance around in your grey sweat suits and let your Robitussin lull you into absolute bliss, although, I caution you to make sure you measure correctly. Perhaps we will be rewarded for our current suffering later in life. Or maybe we will just continue to be the gross kids no one sits with.