The Will to Live

I have lined up before me at this very moment the following: Symmetrel, Seldane, Lomotil, Sudafed, Zantac, Tylenol and something that dissolves under the tongue. They are my medication commandos in a war against misery.

I brought them into my writing room in order to keep working despite the ravages of influenza that affect every part of me, from my head to my very fingertips.

I don’t take them all, because the mixture might create a chemical stew that could liquefy my intestines. I merely glance at them occasionally to assure myself they’re there if needed.

Meanwhile, I continue writing. There’s nothing like the will to live to keep a guy pecking away at a word processor, though the desire for income has something to do with it.

I would not burden you with my problem today if I didn’t think that one out of every 2.5 of you probably have the same ailment. It’s beneficial, in times of stress, to share the burden. Think of it as community therapy.

Those among L.A. County’s 9 million souls who suffer from the flu know its severity, which is why I mentioned the drugs available to fight its symptoms.

Each has his or her own way of waging war against the debilitating pathology of the A Virus, and most are as useless as the medications on my desk.

One woman I know chants and, while it hasn’t helped her flu, it does take her mind off the ringing in her ears. Another concocts a vile-tasting potion from ground seaweed. Others sweat it out, run, drink hot whiskey or risk overdosing on Vitamin C.

Television commercials are right. Temporary relief is all we can hope for. See your doctor if symptoms persist.

My mother used to say you were in danger of dying from the flu only if you began smelling rotten. “Beware the smell of the grave,” she’d warn.

What we all have, I have learned, is Influenza A (H3N2) Shanghai.

I got this from Frank Sorvillo, who assured me that this is not one of the big ones. He’s an epidemiologist with the L.A. County Health Department.

“We watch for changes in the virus,” he said, “and there aren’t any major changes in what’s going around now. In 1957 there was the Asian Flu epidemic and in 1968 there was the Hong Kong Flu epidemic. Those were the big ones.”

What we have now is just the flu, despite its imposing numerical designation, and it’s here just when it should be, right in the middle of the flu season. Its punctuality, one must concede, is admirable. Like a swallow coming back to Capistrano.

No one knows precisely how many of us have good old H3N2 because flu is not a reportable disease like, say, leprosy or the plague.

After it’s all over, however, we get a pretty good idea of how bad it was by counting the number of those who died from flu-related symptoms. As Sorvillo points out, the more deaths there were, the more cases of flu there must have been.

The worst influenza pandemic in history occurred in the 1918-19 season. Twenty million people around the world died, 850,000 of them in the United States.

We judge from the number of deaths that there must have been one hell of a lot of others who felt like I do.

H3N2 is not likely to do that. “It’s a normal flu,” a specialist with the National Centers for Disease Control said. Then he added cheerfully, “But what many don’t realize is that normal flu kills.”

The symptoms are supposed to last from five to seven days and include everything from a runny nose and general malaise to conditions too repugnant to discuss.

My wife got it first and, typically, managed to function despite her misery. Then I got it.

I’m not ill very often, but I implode when it happens. Everything about me weakens and collapses. Past columns flash before my eyes.

“You’ll be all right,” my wife said. “Just lie on the couch and watch cartoons. Bugs Bunny will be on soon. You like Bugs.”

“Do I smell funny to you?” I said.

“I’m not your mother and I’m not going to smell you,” she said. “Forget the old wives’ tales. Your mother’s friend probably died of gangrene, not the flu. I think there’s an odor to gangrene.”

Then she went off to cook or garden or add a room to the house. Women are incredible when it comes to persevering when men falter. It has something to do with their ability to bear live young.

I feel well enough today to write, but that isn’t saying much. When I’m done, I will hit the couch again. Only thus will H3N2 be vanquished. You might try the same thing.

And, by the way, if you smell something funny, not to worry. It’s probably only gangrene.