I’ve been laid up the last few days, and let me tell you, it’s been rough. The kind of sick where your nose won’t stop running, your throat feels like sandpaper, and your body can’t decide whether it’s freezing or on fire. Toss in a headache that won’t quit and the general fog of misery, and you’ve got yourself a full-blown adult sick day. And as bad as I’ve felt, I can only imagine how hard it’s been on my wife, who’s had to put up with my grumbling, blanket-hogging, medicine-resistant self.
I tried everything…tea, cough drops, over-the-counter this and that. Nothing worked. Then, somewhere between a sneeze and a groan, I had a thought. Or maybe it was my wife gently nudging me toward it: “If you’re going to be sick, why not lean into it like you did when you were a kid?”
And that hit me. Because back then, being sick wasn’t fun, but it had its perks.
As a kid, a sick day meant skipping school and settling into the couch like royalty. I’d wrap myself in a blanket, clutch a box of tissues, and spend the morning watching The Price Is Right and Press Your Luck. Bob Barker’s voice was like chicken soup for the soul, and those spinning Whammies were the closest thing to high-stakes drama I knew. And while my classmates were stuck in Mrs. Pruitt’s math class, I was dodging game show disasters and racking up imaginary prizes.
So in my weakened state, I tried to recapture that magic. I fired up Pluto TV and flipped to the game show channel. But it didn’t hit the same. The charm was there, but the thrill was gone. I moved on to my Nintendo Switch, hoping a few levels of Super Mario World or a run through Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest might do the trick. But even those old favorites felt… flat.
I think the problem is that everything’s too accessible now. Back then, The Price Is Right was a rare treat reserved for summer vacation or a sick day at home. Video games weren’t always at your fingertips. They were earned, anticipated, savored. Now, it’s all just a swipe away.
In my grumpy, congested haze, I started longing for the kind of sick day that can’t be recreated. The kind that started with a phone call to Grandma.
When I was really under the weather, I’d get to spend the day at her house. We didn’t have cable at home, but Grandma did. That meant Nickelodeon in the morning with Mr. Wizard’s World and The Mysterious Cities of Gold, and reruns on TBS in the afternoon: The Brady Bunch, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie. It was like stepping into a parallel universe where being sick came with its own programming schedule.
But it wasn’t just the TV. It was the whole experience.
Lunch was always the same, and always perfect. A steaming bowl of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup, Zesta saltine crackers stacked neatly on a plate, and a glass of Tropicana orange juice poured from one of those thick glass jugs that felt like they belonged in a museum. And then came dessert: a metal can of Del Monte chocolate pudding.
That’s right…a metal can.
Before plastic cups took over the world, pudding came in these glorious little tins. You’d pop the lid with a can opener, and inside was a smooth, rich treat that somehow tasted better than anything you could buy today. At Grandma’s, you got one with lunch and another later in the afternoon, just because. It was the kind of indulgence that made you feel better before the medicine even kicked in.
I tried to replicate it this week. I really did. But you can’t find pudding in a can anymore. And orange juice in a glass jug? Forget it. Those things belonged to a different time…a time when comfort came in small, thoughtful packages and love was served with a spoon.
I’m convinced that if we still had that combo of chicken noodle soup, glass-jug juice, and canned pudding, we could’ve wiped out half the viruses of the last decade. COVID wouldn’t have stood a chance.
But here I am, an adult with a sore throat and no Grandma’s house to retreat to. No Nickelodeon reruns. No metal cans. Just memories.
And you know what? That’s something. Because even if I can’t taste the pudding or hear Bob Barker’s voice the way I used to, I can still feel it. That warmth. That care. That little slice of grandma magic that made being sick a little less miserable.
Being sick as a grown-up is the worst. But remembering what it used to be like? That’s the best medicine I’ve got.
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