MARCH 24, 2024 – Today to distract myself from a continuously runny nose—for which over-the-counter antihistamines provide zero relief—and a continual cough (also resistant to all over-the-counter remedies), I devised various imaginary predicaments that were far worse than my actual circumstances.
If nothing else, I got a few half-laughs out of the game.
The first I called “The Doha Round,” inspired by the actual Doha Round of World Trade Organization negotiations that took place in Doha, Qatar back in 2001. My cough, you see, is at that stage when phlegm collects somewhere in the upper chest region, triggering the physiological mechanisms that cause me to want to cough up the loose whatever and spit it contemptuously into the bathroom sink. This process requires a major physical effort that goes full circle numerous times—inhale, cough, inhale, cough again, multiple times, until Uncle Louie finally decides to leap out of my throat and into my mouth for proper release. All the hacking and coughing sounds like an old dog trying to bark at something without knowing exactly what it is. I want to yell, “QUI-ET!” until I realize I’m the dog. But when the phlegm finally does appear, invariably I let out a noise that sounds exactly like “Doha.” And I laugh.
Another place I go with the cold is . . . prison. I pretend I’ve been arrested in some Godforsaken country where there’s no such thing as the rule of law. Before contracting the cold, the country wasn’t at all Godforsaken. It was a great place—warm, scenic, plenty of good food, ample entertainment—until, BAM, overnight it became sickville. All flights out of the country got canceled, as rumors of a government crackdown went viral. I got caught up in the street melee in front of my hotel, was arrested by riot police, and tossed into prison. The worst of it is I don’t know what the charges are and have no idea how long I’ll be confined. When will my nose stop running? When will my cough stop calling out “Doha!” 10 minutes? No one will tell me.
The good news is I’m allowed out of my cell to walk the inside other parts of the prison. To avoid complete insanity, I take advantage of this “freedom” to log 30 minutes of walking every day. I’m allowed books and movies too, but I have to confess that while that sounds all well and good, I have yet to take full advantage of library privileges. I’m just too busy blowing my nose and making noise about Doha.
At first I was afraid I’d be forced to make license plates, but when the prison authorities discovered I was a lawyer, they assigned me to the “prisoner legal services office,” where I have to advise fellow prisoners on various legal matters. There’s just no rest for the weary, apparently.
There are times, however, when I escape the prison imagery and find alternative distractions. Sometimes these fall right out of the sky—like the fast accumulating snow, for example, that now blankets the world outside. With quiet beauty the heavy snow clings to everything and creates a magical wonderland out of our neighborhood. As I contemplate the scenery, I manage to forget my cough and cold.
I’d ski if I could, but in this thought I find an even greater distraction as I recall the story a good friend told me yesterday: another skier friend of his had been enjoying the fresh snows of northern New Hampshire recently, when the friend—our age—had a horrible collision and broke every single one of his ribs. He had to be airlifted to a high-level trauma center. “He’s going to make it,” my friend said, “but he could’ve died.”
My imprisonment, runny nose and “Doha” cough now seem trite. I don’t need to ski, and I certainly don’t need to break all my ribs. All I need is to be is well. It’s simple enough. Odds are I’ll be released from prison long before the skier’s ribs have healed.
All of which serves to remind me of the story of the “Great Exchange of Woes”: People were invited to bring their woes to a large gathering where they could exchange their own problems for the (lesser) troubles of someone else in the exchange; but in the event, everyone left with the very woes they’d brought to trade.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
