I was early to my show in Brooklyn, and the bar was cash only, so there was only one thing I could do: sit by myself at a booth and start googling 'Swine Flu Symptoms'.
Yes, I realized it was two months after Swine Flu was really in vogue, but I was fairly certain that my sister had it, and I was sharing a hotel room with her.
A word about my sister: You know that friend who can pound a fifth of whiskey and a twelver of Tecate, and still carry on a conversation with job interview-level lucidity? She can drink him under the table, then wake up at the crack of dawn, drive four hours, and compete in a rollerskating competition.
This week, however, we were in New York City, a Type-A night owl's haven, and the evening before, she'd actually uttered the sentence, "I don't want to stay out very late tonight," - her version of saying "Call a Priest," so I knew it was time to get googling.
Fatigue. Nausea. Headache. Cough. Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Christ, were the WHO people staying next door at the Belleclaire?
When the host of the show approached me, I was still sitting solo, zooming in on the word VOMITTING, which is always a fun way to meet new friends.
"Tess? Show's about to start," I'd been so engrossed in my diagnosis that I'd forgotten to write a set list. I closed my phone and set aside my pandemic pipe dreams, for the time being.
The next morning, she wasn't doing any better. I, having spent the better part of a train ride the night before googling 'Risk Factors' tried to subtly assess the situation.
"You still have headache?"
"Uh huh,"
"This sucks. I wonder how you got this. Maybe at the park, or on the plane, or, have you or anyone you know, been in direct contact with anyone who's visited Mexico City between April and June of 2009?"
"Teresa. There's no such thing as Swine Flu."
I wanted to tell her that it isn't like Terrorism, a fabricated ideal made stronger by people's belief in it. It is a simple, concrete, highly infectious virus, generally transmitted via respiratory secretions. I figured, though, that everyone dealt with their diagnosis in their own way, and who was I to pass judgement?
My judgement day came when I returned to LA. I woke up expecting to make up all the work I'd gotten behind on, and was instead met with fatigue, nausea, headache, and, oh shit, cough. I was so weak, I couldn't even focus on the T.V. I was barely able to walk Gatsby down the street, and it took every last inkling of energy to open my computer and once more google the ol' symptoms, just to be on the safe side. I matched five out of six of them. Well, it wasn't like I didn't see it coming.I collapsed on the couch, and tried to picture the newspaper article, "West Hollywood Woman, 27, confirmed case of Swine Flu," Sure, it would be buried on page 13, but I wondered if I could use it in my press kit.
I was still immobilized when Jack got home from work. "You poor thing!" he brought me water and gave me a hug. "I know, it's awful. I think I have Swine Flu,"
He leaped away from the couch and started spraying the kitchen with bleach. "You don't have Swine Flu" he took out the gloves and sterilized the coffee table. "Five out of six symptoms,"
"Uh huh. Is there anything I can -"
(from outside, at the bottom of the stairs)
"Do for you?"
I mumbled something about calling the Associated Press and fell back to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up, still sick, and not sure how to break the news to my friends and loved ones. I figured I'd get the Tamiflu, and then quarantine myself for the seven day period when it is contagious, because, I would tell them bravely "Swine Flu stops with me,"
That afternoon, Jack took me to the doctor, which, for an uninsured person such as myself, is a bit like saying "Let's have lobster and champagne for breakfast!" One only does it once a year, at most, and only for very special occasions. As I waited in the lobby with all of the regular sick people, I wondered if the doctor even knew what was in store for her. Would I be her first Swine Flu case? Was it like when someone wins the lotto at your liquor store? Would the WHO send her a little certificate to be displayed proudly at the receptionist window?
I passed out in the examining room and woke up to the doctor asking why I was there. I figured this was merely a formality, as I'd already told the nurse what my, ahem, symptoms were. Still, she didn't seem to have a clear cut idea of what was wrong with me, so I thought I'd steer her in the right direction.
"I have fatigue, nausea, headache, cough, and I'm vomitting," I winked, then coughed under my breath, "H1N1,"
She examined me then nodded gravely. "Okay, you have some kind of severe cold, and also upset stomach. I'm going to give you some Prilosec, and Claratin, which you can get over the counter,"
Severe cold? Upset stomach? Over the counter? The one time I was springing for a real doctor and not WebMD, and I was getting the 'Take to Asprin and Call Me in the Morning Treatment?!' I was appalled.
Apparently, I was also Swine Flu free, as I did feel better a day or so later. I still do not, however, share my sister's view that "There is no such thing as Swine Flu," nor do I regret the countless hours that I spent laying on my couch, obsessing over what kind of mask to wear next time I fly. I only hope that before the next time I get sick, the media finds another virus to glom onto and inflate to epic proportions, because it feeds my hypochondriac mind in a way that is so much more engaging than just watching Price is Right.
