Kayla Wikaryasz

My mother and I simultaneously endured one of the worst flu experiences we’ve had in quite some time, over the New Year’s holiday.

Both of our illnesses were prolonged and I still have a lingering cough. There were moments throughout this illness, like anytime I am unwell, that I feel as though I will never be functional again — I will never set foot in the gym hereafter, nor will I ever have a restful sleep.

This is all hyperbole, of course, but there was something beautifully symbolic about my mother and I’s struggle these past two weeks. Not only did we contract this illness over a time of collective rebirth and celebration, but we came out of a physically-trying time all the better for it.

Growing up, and even now as an adult, illnesses were perceived as a right of passage in my household. They were opportunities to test the fortitude of our emotional strength, as well as the endurance of our immune systems.

“You need to get sick to fight off other crap,” my mother always said. “The doctors will just tell you to rest. So take something and go to bed.”

This lesson was beneficial when I moved away and had to deal with illnesses by myself while navigating adulthood and college courses. While my peers crumbled into a heap of helplessness when they got a sniffle, I merely took a hot shower and got on with the day.

I don’t give myself much credit for any perceptible talent I might have, but I will say I have grown up to be particularly adept at navigating illnesses as I was often sick as a child. My nickname was Snot Queen, if that gives you any better context as to my experience.

While fighting off sicknesses as a child, often brought on by allergies and sinus infections, I learned illnesses are quite special in that they test our abilities to adapt and prevail. They are humbling experiences that remind us to practice gratitude when we are healthy and able bodied.

Illnesses, though on a molecular level are nothing more than chaotic neutral organisms seeking to sustain their own lives, often occur when we have grown too confident, blind, or pompous. They remind us that we are human.

While away at college I lived with three other roommates. As one would expect, illnesses would spread through the apartment like wildfire especially because we all partook in college extracurriculars. (We never slept and we spent too much time at college bars.)

As one would hear a sneeze or a cough from down the hall, it was as if an imaginary timer was set that ticked away the hours until you yourself got a chill or felt aches ripple through your body.

“I can’t get sick, Alexis,” I told my roommate one day. “You need to, like, not leave your room for a few days. I have an exam on Monday.”

But alas, I would get sick and yes, I would still have to take my exam on Monday.

This past illness is the first I’ve endured while living back at home and I will say that it was refreshing to go through it with people around me who cared how I was faring. College peers can only offer minimal amounts of sympathy as most of us are just now learning how to take care of ourselves.

“You’re sick?” a peer asked me one day.

“Yeah,” I said, wiping my nose.

“That sucks,” they added. “I really hope you don’t get me sick.”

Being sick while in college was always made worse because you had to endure it alone and homesick. Campus clinics also made illnesses worse as they are like communistic-caricatures of medical facilities, ticking a box of a required service and pushing students in and out with lacking diagnoses, direction, or compassion. Every time I left the on-campus clinic I felt as though I was made more sick just by the act of seeking help.

The only things that made the emotional toll of an illness less severe was practicing at-home remedies my mother taught me like chewing on raw garlic or smearing VIX on the walls while taking a hot shower. The obligatory cut of black tea, like those my father would always push in my face as a child, also made an illness less depressing.

“Here is some tea,” my father would say at three in the morning, handing the cup to me in the dark. “I’m sure this will help with something.”

I just recently learned that my father’s grandmother offered tea, very strong tea, to family members as a sign of compassion and closeness.

Experiencing this latest illness alongside my mother was spiritually significant as I could see my own struggle reflected upon someone else, and that other person actually looked at me and said, “Wow, this sucks,” “I’m sorry we are both going through this,” and “What can I do to help?”

I feel as though I walked away from this flu experience, as insignificant as it may seem to some, changed to some degree. I learned something fundamental about myself and my environment that will have lasting impacts on how I navigate life’s challenges — I’m still processing as to what I’ve actually learned, however.