A Lighter View
Chasing swine flu
By K.E.H. Stagg

Oct. 8, 2009

Isn’t it odd that the all-points alert for swine flu increased right around the time of Farmers Fair? The first thing I did this past week after contracting a horrible bug was to call my family doctor to make sure I wasn’t suffering from the infamous H1N1 (a.k.a., swine flu) virus. I wouldn’t say that I’m paranoid; I like to think I’m sensibly cautious.

For those of us who don’t really know what swine flu is, let me state first of all that it’s not intestinal flu and, secondly, bears no resemblance whatsoever to mad cow disease. If you read the list of symptoms, swine flu looks very much like the common cold, which is what I had. Apparently the critical difference is intensity and duration: major aches and long lasting cough, chills and fever.

Although some of us think every ailment we have is serious, swine flu is characterized by—among other things—severe upper respiratory infection (URI). Since I am fortunate in that I never get URI’s, I was cleared for H1N1. Yahoo! Of course, I still had a rotten cold and a touch of intestinal flu, but at least I knew I wasn’t about to succumb to the forecasted pandemic.

While I’m careful to sneeze into my elbow and use hand sanitizer like I’m Howard Hughes during his last days, it’s actually kind of funny to walk around coughing like a maniac. People I don’t even know are tactfully inquiring about swine flu, and I am able to reassure them that while I may look like a pig, I am not transmitting any porcine diseases.

I do admit to being somewhat leery of venturing into public places now, knowing that my resistance is lowered and I may unknowingly inhale someone else’s swine flu. I’ve foresworn church attendance for a few weeks, am using up all the groceries I’ve stored up in case of a blizzard and am watching old movies for the umpteenth time in order to avoid unnecessary contact with other humans.

At work, I sequester myself in my cubicle, which I frequently hose down with Lysol, venturing out only after donning a Hazmat suit and liberally slathering myself with sanitizing lotion. I’ve used up an entire packet of germ-killing wipes making sure I don’t re-infect myself through use of the telephone handset or computer keyboard.

In fact, the only thing I haven’t done—so far—is require visitors to undergo a disinfecting shower before allowing them to enter my germ-free zone. My boss may get a free ride on this, but eventually everyone else will have to endure the sheep dip, or come back when flu season is over.

It may seem like paranoia, but when I’m the only one not oinking, then who will be the smart one?