Every single semester for the past three and a half years, I have gotten sick. Without fail. No matter how many Emergen-C packets I drink in the morning or zinc pills I pop, the black plague eventually gets me.
When I was an underclassman, I was able to attribute the sickness to dorm living. Between breathing the poop-filled air circulating through the dorms, not knowing how to clean my room (which was on me) and essentially living with 25 other guys, it wasn’t exactly the healthiest environment.
The types of sicknesses I get are very abnormal. I got very sick early in the spring semester of my first year. I woke up at 5 a.m. in a puddle of sweat with trouble breathing. To my dismay, I felt my neck and had a huge bump on the left side of it. It was a swollen lymph node that was impeding my trachea, making my breathing very short and rough.
I called my parents, and my dad told me to go to Tufts University Health Service — which didn’t open until 9:45 a.m. (crazy time) — and to pack a bag just in case I had to go to the emergency room. Hearing those words as a first-year was very scary.
I went to Health Service huffing and puffing. Three different doctors came to check me out (I think they thought I was pregnant). They asked me everything from “When was the last time you did a keg stand?” to “When was the last time you cleaned your room?” My answer to both questions? Never.
After extensive blood tests, it turned out I just had a very abnormal and extreme case of the flu. They sent me home with some Tamiflu pills, steroids and a dustbuster for my room.
As scary as the whole experience was, what I remember most isn’t the swollen lymph node or the three doctors questioning my keg stand history; it’s how many people were there to help me through it. My parents immediately jumped into action, making sure I knew what to do, and my friends who lived around me in Hodgdon Hall were equally understanding (outside of when they were taking pictures of my lump). Looking back on the many times I’ve gotten sick since then, I’ve realized that this kindness isn’t an isolated experience.
I just recovered from another sickness (hence the delayed publication). It was inevitable. Once one of my housemates got sick, it was essentially dominoes. When I was sick, it was horrible. I skipped my classes, I missed a hike with a friend and I essentially laid in my own piss and s--- for two whole days.
But while I was sick, my friends brought me medicine, offered to pick up anything I needed and tucked me into bed with a goodnight kiss. It was very sweet. After I recovered, it was my turn. One of my friends was coming down with a sickness during our class together. Without hesitation, I gave them my Tylenol cold pills, my leftover zinc pills and some wondrous advice.
It got me thinking about why this happens. Why is it that, when someone gets sick, people are so quick to offer help? I think part of it is that sickness is one of the few experiences that almost everyone can relate to. We’ve all had those days when getting out of bed feels like running a marathon, when even looking at food makes us nauseous and when the thought of going to class feels like climbing Mount Everest. We know how miserable it is, and we know how much even the smallest gesture can mean.
But I don’t think this just stops at being sick. When someone is sick, it’s visible. They’re coughing, sneezing, sniffling and looking like they’ve just been resurrected from the dead. It’s easy to recognize when a sickly person is struggling and even easier to justify helping them. But some struggles aren’t that visible. Someone might be having a rough week, stressing about their future or dealing with something they don’t feel comfortable sharing. They might not have a swollen lymph node the size of an apple hanging off their neck to signal that something is wrong. And yet, they still might need that same kindness and empathy.
We often wait for someone to tell us they’re struggling before helping them. We wait for someone to ask for help, admit they are having a hard time or give us obvious signs they need support. But maybe we shouldn’t have to wait for that. Being a good friend, classmate or just a good person should mean checking in before someone has to ask. It doesn’t have to be a grandiose gesture either; perhaps just a quick text, an invite to get dinner or simply asking how they are doing and actually listening.
If getting sick has taught me anything, it’s that the smallest gestures can make pretty miserable situations a little bit more bearable. Knowing that you are supported, thought about and loved goes a long way when the world seems to be collapsing.
So, while I will probably continue getting the black plague once a semester for the rest of my life, at least I know that I’ll have people around me to help me through it. And hopefully, I can do the same for them.
Remember, kindness is contagious. Unfortunately, so is whatever the hell I keep getting.
Sneezing, coughing and wheezing,
Ben Rachel
