The holidays make me sick . . . literally. There have been no more than a handful of special occasions where I remained in good health from beginning to end. True to form, smack dab in the middle of this year’s Christmas festivities, I have developed a very itchy, swollen, blotchy red rash all over my arms and legs-a reaction to an antibiotic I was given for a bug-unknown-bite that took a turn for the worst about six days ago.
“Have a merry Christmas,” the doctor said, “and call me if it gets worse.”
Oh, how redundant it has all become.
When I was nine I spent the New Years Eve in the ER with my Mother. For hours I knew something was happening to me, but since I couldn’t tell what it was I figured it was just minor and mostly in my head. Unfortunately for me and poor Mom, the problem was actually in my neck. By the time I came to her, and by “came to her,” I mean, laid on my bed crying until she came and found me, I had developed a very bad case of swollen glands. In true child-like fashion, I had waited until we were minutes away from heading out to Aunt Kathy’s annual New Year’s Eve party before I alerted anyone to my situation. In the ER I had to drink about three million glasses of ice cold water, for what purpose I still don’t even know, thus turning my entire body an eggplanty-type-purple. Then to my horror, the doctor, a boy, told me I would have to pull down my pants because he needed to give me a shot “in the rear-end.” The sobbing was instantly back in action and a moment later a very nice nurse appeared to administer the shot.
The universe cares very little about the same things a teenage girl does, so it decided not to limit my extraordinarily bad timing with illnesses to holidays alone. No-the universe thought it would be a hoot to screw up prom for me, too.
Easter, 2001: I lay out in the sun, completely surrendering to the merciless rays of the afternoon. It’s so hot I can barely breathe but somehow I endure. I found a way to relax and find peace through the heat’s total saturation of my body, in fact, I had found so much peace that, as cliché as it is, I fell asleep. My back burned so badly I had to go to the doctor (surprise, surprise,) but not before I had the ingenious idea to take the sting out by covering myself with towels soaked in vinegar. Not only did this merely dull the fierce, searing pain to maybe, an angry, throbbing soreness, but it caused my skin to tighten so much I couldn’t even push myself up off the floor. When I finally did make it to Dr. Farr’s office, I had missed three days of school and gone through an entire “value size” bottle of Solarcaine. Serious though my situation was, this setback did not stop me from buying the exact dress I wanted to wear to my senior prom. I still got the killer low-back sequined gown and was thrilled to wear it. However, I slept in that lawn chair long enough for the sun to burn through so many layers of skin, that even with medication and Estee Lauder’s best sunless tanning cream, I ended up showing off a very clear X between my shoulder blades where my bathing suit top had been months earlier. Most girls spend months going to expensive salons to show off their tans at prom. I spent one afternoon in my backyard and then months trying to cover it up before prom. At least the Fake-n-Bake Betty’s probably spent way more money than I did. Score: Meagan 1, Betty’s 392.
When I was twenty, the universe stomped all over New Year’s Eve again. About an hour after enjoying a late lunch at a nearby Mexican restaurant with Chris, (then-boyfriend, current-fiancé,) and his parents, I started to feel very queasy.
Instantly I thought, ‘Oh, God, I knew that meat looked weird in my chimichanga!’
The more time went by the sicker I became, until finally I was laying on Chris’s couch shivering and throwing up. It wasn’t food poisoning. I had the flu. Until this point, I had always thought the flu was just a really bad cold. I quickly discovered this to be an extreme falsehood. The flu was so much more than a cold. The flu was the most horrific illness I had ever experienced. The flu was killing me. Chris drove me home and, with the help of my parents, got me set up in my room for the night. Before he left, he set up a Sex and the City marathon (a-la-VHS) in case the Nyquil failed to thoroughly sedate me. He left that night at 10:30 to be with his family, and I stayed in my room, alone and miserable, with only Big and Carrie with whom to ring in the New Year. And so, in the words of the late, great, Freddie Mercury . . . another one bites the dust.
Though I am, at this very moment covered in a sea of itchy, red puffiness, I have high hopes that this Christmas will be one holiday I don’t remember for all the wrong reasons. Soon, I should be able to check this holiday’s inevitable illness off my ever-growing list of things to do and still have time to enjoy the season.
My high hopes for happiness do not end with me, but extend to each and every one of you. I know it’s sometimes hard for adults to feel the warmth of Christmas when we’re all responsible for so many extra things this time of year. I urge everyone to be open to the recognition of Santa Claus as a true force for good in this world. Know that no matter what personal beliefs you hold, the happiness he brings is real. If you need reassurance, just ask the little 9-year-old girl from Cesar Chavez Elementary School in Pharr, Texas. Her letter to Santa resulted in the arrest of a relative who had been molesting her and her sister for the last four years. You can bet that Santa Claus, and the good that can come from believing in his spirit, will always be very real in the hearts of those two lucky ladies.
Surviving Another Christmas December 19, 2008
2008 Holiday “Top 5″ December 5, 2008
Christmas is fast approaching . . . only two paychecks left, for those of you who plan these things out like I do. With all the wreathes and lights and greenery around town, I find myself almost perpetually in the holiday spirit. I am looking forward to many things as the season wears on, the best of which have made it to my Top Five list this year.
1. The cold, well, colder weather. As a very proud Ohio girl, Texas heat is something that I’ve never gotten used to. When I stepped out of the airport the day my family and I moved here in July of 1995, I felt as though the oxygen had been sucked from the air. ‘What’s humidiy?’ I was shocked. ‘People can’t possibly live like this, can they?’ I thought. ‘But, how could Dad bring me to a place that will surely suffocate me?’ I was eleven, asthsmatic and totally betrayed. It took about three months for me to accept that I would not be returning to Cleveland . . . home of the Indians, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the best stadium mustard known to ever grace a street-side hotdog. When the temperature drops, I can almost pretend I’m home again. That is until three minutes go by and somehow it’s 85 and rainy.
2. Decorating. Tonight I will hold my first annual decorating party with my son and fiance. We have many family members to see on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and rarely have time to spend with just each other for the holidays. So, last week I decided to make decorating the apartment a family event that we can all enjoy together. There will be upbeat Christmas music, egg nog, cookies and tiny hor d’oeurves while we put out decorations that my Mother used to hang when I was a little girl. Though we have a few new ones of our own, the ones I can remember hanging on the walls of our house on 140th Street are still my favorite. When we’re done, Chris and I will dish out a warm meal on china given to me by his late grandmother, and we will have our own version of Christmas dinner. A classic holiday movie, the title of which is thus far undetermined though I’m really pulling for Roudolph, will close the night along with hot chocolate and snuggeling. I am hopeful that this will be one tradition we hold on to.
3. Redirection. Christmas and all it entails offers your mind something else worthy of attention aside from everyday life. I welcome the distraction and am truly thankful for the ability to think about something other than Barack Obama, my job, the laundry, our finances or the ongoing cold war between myself and our tredmill. (Only feet away, every night that evil silver beast taunts me as I watch House from our oh-so-comfy-couch.) I am all too happy to replace these thoughts with others, like, where to put the Christmas tree this year or how to make sure my son doesn’t find his stash of presants. Hiding things from an adventurous 4-year-old is next to impossible. This year, I have eploited his inbility to get to the top of my closet and hidden his Wall-E and superhero loot up there, underneath a My Little Pony blanket. My fingers are crossed he will be too put off by the pink and purple ponies to bother.
4. Redemption. Thanksgiving did not go one hundred percent as planned. Though I had every intention of dispelling the far-too-prevelant belief that held by my family that I do not wash the dishes or clean the kitchen, or generally help at all during family get-togethers, I failed miserably. In my defense, circumstances always work against me. I woke up that Thursday morning and decided that there must be a way to overcome this terrible reputation and that I would make this right. I wanted more than ever to show my family the considerate, helpful, upbeat person I really am. This did not happen. The day started off well enough, toast and happy conversation with Mom . . . but without me noticing, all of a sudden I was behind. Relitives arrived while I was still in pajamas and by the time I got upstairs to get dressed and ready for the day, I realized that my pants were downstairs in the dryer. This is what I got for trying to be wrinkle free. The day continued this way and in truth, I did not wash a single dish. I did not cook anything, I did not serve anything, I was behind the eight ball. The one thing I did accomplish was to set the table. This backfired on me, since after all ten of us sat down and said grace, my father looked down and said, “Where’s the knives?” All eighteen eyes found my beet red face and I said, “Oh . . . sorry!” Everyone laughed, my dad shook his head and chuckeled, and I sauntered back to the kitchen in defeat. ‘Christmas,’ I told myself, ‘will be different.’ I will be the master of table-setting and a champion potato masher. They won’t see that last one coming.
5. Alastair Sim. For as long as I can remember my parents, my sister and I have watched Alastair Sim’s A Christmas Carol (1951) together on Christmas Eve with all the lights out and the fire blazing. I love to watch my father’s face as old Mr. Scrooge dances around as giddy as a school girl–the genuine enjoyment in his eyes is why I come home for Christmas. Even though Dani and I have moved out of the house, we both are sure to make it home by Christmas Eve to spend this time with our parents. After the movie ends and one of us nudges Mom awake, we sit beneath the glowing tree and open one gift. For my sister and I, this is always the new ornament that my mother has carefully chosen for each of us. It’s the nicest, calmest, most beautiful night of the year for me. I hope that my attempt to start my own family traditions with our decorating party this year ends up meaning as much to my children as Alastair Sim means to me.
