Sick Days

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891)

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today I’m staying home from work.  I’m staying home from work because my oldest daughter is sick.  She had a stomach ache and nausea last night after dinner, and she woke up with those two symptoms, and a headache and sore throat on top of that.  It sucks, for her, of course, but also for me.  As a father, I hate seeing my children suffering.  Nonetheless, here I am.

The worst thing about it, other than my daughter’s discomfort, is that this is a bad time to be away from work for me.  Next week is the paper mill’s annual maintenance down, and I have a million and seven things to do yet to prepare.  So, I suppose I’ll have to take my lumps on Monday and hustle my big bum around the mill.

But, since I’m home, I figured it’d be a good time to write a post or two on this here blog before the dust gets too thick upon it.

Anyway, my daughter’s sick day got me to thinking – I hated to stay home from school when I was sick.  I would much rather suck it up and get through the day so I wouldn’t get behind in my work.  This habit has followed me into adulthood.  I don’t like taking sick days.  I’d rather go to work and get something done, even if it is only half my usual work output, than stay home feeling like sorry for myself.  Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s my work ethic, or maybe it’s subconscious masochism, but I have to do whatever work I have on my plate.

This reminds me of one day in high school.  For a couple of weeks, I had been feeling like garbage – fever, headache, sore throat, drained of energy, you get the idea.  My muscles ached!  I had a hard time walking, picking up my backpack, heck – even holding up my head.  One thing that I had never felt before this time, though, was my eye muscles.  Well, the muscles that you use to move your eyes up, down, left and right.  Even those muscles ached.  I had never even given those muscles a second thought.  But, I couldn’t ignore them now, not when even they were screaming at me for using them.

English: Miniature of the sick-bed of Louis le...

English: Miniature of the sick-bed of Louis le Gros, with doctors administering medicine with a spoon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One event in particular I recall about this time was when I was talking to my friend Quigs in school.  I told him about how crappy I was feeling, and explained to him how even my eyes were hurting.  “What?  That doesn’t even make any sense,” he laughed.  “Well, if I move my eyes up, down, left, right, the muscles hurt,” I explained.  “So, if I hold your head steady,” he said, mimicking with his hands how he would hold my head, “then say, ‘Hey, Mark, look over there,’ then you would be in pain?”  “Yeah, Quigs, that’s right,” I answered.  He laughed about it, and, I have to day, so did I.  Granted, the laughing hurt, but I wasn’t going to let pain stop me from enjoying myself.

So, I guess that’s another habit I carried with me into adulthood – I ignore my pain and discomfort, and just plug along.  Maybe it’s not the best thing to do.  Oh, well.

So, how about you?  Do you force yourself through work or school when you’re sick?  Or do you take the day off to rest and get better?

Fond Childhood Memories – Setting My Brother On Fire

OK, the title is a little misleading – I didn’t really set my brother on fire, well, not entirely.  Nor did I enjoy it – at least, not the burning part.

Let me start it this way…

This happened when I was younger, probably around ten years old, which would make my brother around eight.  If I recall correctly, this was in the late summer or early fall – September or October.  I remember it being fairly warm out, but not hot, and my brother was wearing pants.  This will become important to the story later.

The sun was up.  It was afternoon, probably around 3:00 or 4:00 PM.  Throughout the day, my brother and I had been playing with a magnifying glass.  We’re not alone in this, it would seem, as I’ve swapped many stories with friends about using a magnifying glass to burn things – ants, grass, plastic action figures, Matchbox cars, you know – typical boy shenanigans.  Anyway, my brother and I thought it would be a really cool idea to burn some newspaper.  So, we grabbed a newspaper out of the trash that our parents had thrown out, went outside the garage to the driveway, and started focusing the sun’s light.

At first, we only got a smoldering spot that caught an orange glowing ring.  Well, darn!  We wanted to see flame!  We wanted to see fire!  No problem, we said, let’s keep trying.  So, since the sun was off to the side of the sky, my brother picked up the newspaper and held it at an angle so I could focus the light more directly.  We expected more smoldering and smoke.  What we didn’t expect was –

WHOOSH!  The entire surface of the paper caught fire!  Not just a little spot of flame, but an inferno!  Well, to eight- and ten-year-old boys, it was.

My brother yelled out in surprise and a little fear, “AAAUUUGGHH!”  He threw the paper down onto the driveway and picked up his foot.

Stomp!  Stomp!  Stomp!  He tried to stomp out the flame.  For those who have seen paper burn, you know what happens after a few seconds – it curls up on itself.  This paper was no different.  It curled up, and around my brother’s foot.  I saw the flames licking the hem of his pants leg.  I thought I saw his pants catching fire.

“AAAUUUGGGHHH!”  He started to panic a little more.  I could see the flames touching his pant leg, and I got scared too.  I lifted my foot, in the same way as my brother, and –

Stomp!  Stomp!  On the flame I came down, hard.  The flame, however, was on my brother’s foot.

Stomp! went my foot.

“OUCH!” yelled my brother, who promptly fell back on his rear end.  He shook his foot, trying to throw off the burning paper.  I kept on stomping.

Stomp! “OUCH!” Stomp! “OUCH!” Stomp! “OUCH!”

“Stop hurting my foot!”  “Stop moving your foot!”

Finally, the paper came loose.  My brother and I stomped out the remainder of the flame.  As we calmed down, out of breath, we heard an angry voice behind us.

“What the hell is going on?!”  My father scared the bejeezus out of us, moreso than the fire.  “Um, we were using the magnifying glass-”  “And the paper caught fire-”  “And we tried to put it out-” “And it stuck-”  “And my foot hurts-”  We blurted out like a couple of scared kids, which is what we were actually.

“You mean you were starting fires… with this?”  He grabbed the magnifying glass from us.  “And you tried to stomp it out, when the whole time you could have used that!”  He pointed angrily at the coiled up garden hose, not five feet from us.

My brother and I, in unison, replied, “Uhhhh…”

My father yelled a little more about not playing with fire, and getting hurt and all that, and sent us to our rooms, both of us feeling rather stupid.

I never forgot that lesson – use a hose on a fire when one is nearby, and take the magnifying glass farther away from home.