Sniffle. Sniffle. Cough. Cough. That was the sound of my middle-school classroom earlier this week as swine flu took dead aim on my county - Lenawee - in southeastern Michigan.
And it occurred to me - as I observed the 35 students in my sixth hour seventh grade writing class - that there was very little chance that I could avoid the bug if it decided to take me within its grasp.
Hand washing is fantastic. Anti-bacterial dispensers are wonderful. But one has to stand in front of 35 middle-schoolers on a warm Fall day in a poorly-ventilated school classroom to truly appreciate the nearly impossible task that schools have in combating this virus.
35 students create their own weather. Humidity rises and temperatures increase. Students who cover sneezes cannot hope to avoid sending humid breath after humid breath into the atmosphere. Kids place sweaty palms and drool-filled heads onto desks hour after hour.
And while it is nice to think that sick kids should just stay home, how does that work in reality? Will a mildly-sick student really choose to miss a week of school and fall behind his/her classmates? Will a teacher with an already precarious job situation think that spending a week at home will help to improve long-term job security?
So, it was not a big surprise when I arrived at the after-hours clinic last night and saw a waiting-room full of people with medical masks and semi-regular dry coughs. I claimed my own mask and had a seat.
As I waited, I thought about my own precarious situation. My wife and I are expecting our first child on December 22nd. So, we have observed with no small concern the spread of this flu pandemic. For weeks, I have called around to health departments to try to get Kathy into a swine flu vaccine clinic. But I was always rejected because only medical personnel were being given the shots at the time.
After an hour wait, I had the chance to see the doctor. She told me that they were now extremely busy. Her view was that the official numbers were not fully capturing the extent of the virus's spread. They had seen many, many middle-schoolers. Oh, and she told me that I had a likely case of the swine flu.
On my drive home, I called Kathy's OB-GYN. Her reaction was, "Oh, God." Remember that Kathy is eight months pregnant. She is in her 30s, so it is already a more risky pregnancy. And we had a major bleeding incident early on. I asked her, point blank, if I should just leave the house and she said, "Yes."
So, at 10 PM, with my face mask on, I packed up a bag, told Kathy I loved her and headed off into the night. My first stop was the local CVS. "No Tamiflu here," they said. Try Tecumseh. I tried that CVS in a neighboring town. Again, no Tamiflu.
It was then that I heard for the first - but certainly not the last - time that the pharmacy in Saline had "one package of Tamiflu left." I drove the 40 minutes to that CVS and was told that my doctor's paperwork was not complete enough to get the last box.
So, at midnight, I drove "home" to the Super 8 motel in Adrian, MI. The couple in the room next door was kind of loud, so I decided to get my lesson plans together to send into school. At 1AM, I sent the plans on their merry way. Thank God for good co-workers.
This morning, I resumed my quest for medicine. I called Walgreen's. No Tamiflu. I called a local pharmacy. No Tamiflu. The kind pharmacist at Meijer, however, told me that she had "one box left." I kind of laughed at that, but appreciative when she reached out her arm towards her mask-covered customer and handed me the box.
As I drove through the parking lot with the mask on, however, I began to notice some strange reactions. Several people pulled back away from the car. Momentary shocked glances were almost immediately changed to more respectful, but distant glances. Yes. I had the modern equivalent of the plague. Hello from the dark side.
Another conversation with our OB/GYN, however, made it clear that the "last" box of Tamiflu in my possession would not be entering my system. Kathy would need to start a dose of preventative Tamiflu just in case she had been infected. I drove home and handed over the box. Ten to fifteen phone calls and a lucky cancellation also yielded a spot for Kathy in an afternoon swine flu vaccination clinic.
And, now, for the first time in my life, I will say "Thank God for Wal-mart." People who know me will laugh at that. I hate Wal-mart and never, never shop there. But the OB/GYN had written a replacement prescription for a second dose of Tamiflu so that I could get better, too.
And, well, Wal-mart was the only pharmacy in town that I hadn't called. My call was answered immediately without a ring. "Do you have Tamiflu?" "Yes." I was surprised by how quickly she answered affirmatively.
And with that, I became a Wal-mart shopper.
I am now in possession of proper dosages of Tamiflu. My pregnant wife is now properly vaccinated against whatever nasties I can throw her way. I have returned home for a good night's sleep in my own bed. My kids at school have good writing activities to work on.
And even though I have a headache, loose poop, vigorous sneezes, a dry persistant cough and no energy, I feel pretty good.
God Bless America.