There’s no comfort in being cold. Even less in having one. I understood that first hand when I caught one recently. My first in over twenty years! The dis-comfort of chills and coughs, aches and pains, sniffles and fever came crashing down.
That night, as I gathered up warm blankets and boxes of tissues for a healing sleep, I decided to take a look in our medicine cabinet. Turns out it was a walk down memory lane. All the cold remedies in the closet were seriously past their use-by-date.
There was Ny-Quil and ZZZZ-quil. Sleep meds and nose drops. Zy-Cam and cough drops. Advil and Cold-eeze. I was determined get well fast, so I cooked up a combination of those out-of-date drugs that no cold could possibly withstand.
Sleep came easily. Most likely too easily. And much too deeply. At 3:00 a.m. I woke, wondering where I was. I tentatively put a toe out and found the Mister. That was comforting. Shortly after that, I heard a faint, but clear, rendition of Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer coming from a place nearby. It seemed only right to sing along. So I did.
After Rudolph had flown off into the night with all the other reindeer, I wondered if I’d really heard that. Or if it was just my imagination? Maybe it was enabled by too many “cold comfort” drugs? Then it started up again. And again, I joined in. It was Rudolph all right, singing gently and surely from the Mister’s bedside table.
Or was it? There were no music-making thingies on his bed-side table, no angels singing from the rafters. But the music was there. It really was. Wasn’t it?