"I had a little bird, its name was Enza.
"I opened the window, and in flu Enza."
So reads a little ditty to which children in the 1918-19 era jumped rope. I suppose it was a coping mechanism they developed to deal with the ubiquitous deaths that occurred during the Spanish influenza outbreak near the end of the First World War and into the Roaring Twenties. Sort of the way children sang "Ring Around the Rosy" during the Black Death, I suppose.
My wife and I seldom get sick, but when we do--boy! As the TV maid Hazel would say, "It's a doozy!"
I caught the flu recently, and it was rough. One medication I took to help me sleep at night lowered my blood pressure. I didn't know of that effect, of course, until I got up the next morning and dizzily staggered to the kitchen to make coffee, stumbling awkwardly against the bookcase and almost toppling the TV sitting atop it.
Eventually, I fumbled my way to the kitchen, wondering how I could suddenly be so clumsy. I turned on the coffee maker, turned around, and found myself faceplanted against the floor after making an excruciating slide across the corner of the microwave cart. I tried to push myself up but could hardly raise my head, let alone the rest of my body. I knew then and there exactly how the elderly lady on the TV ads felt, lying on the floor and unable to get up. (I would use her exact words, but I remember reading somewhere that those words are now copyrighted by the advertiser. You probably thought of them anyway.)
After that, I had a black eye and a deeply bruised back muscle to complicate my flu-induced coughing.
While trying to go to sleep one night during my bout with the disease, I became intrigued by the sounds of my own efforts to breath. Ordinarily, I would notice nothing more than an occasional whistle from my nose. But now I had the flu, and I discovered that that malady added some new sounds to my respiratory repertoire. And they were constantly changing, somewhat like the variegated imitative warbling of a mockingbird.
I noticed that some sounds came when I inhaled. Others were obvious only when I exhaled. The latter were the most interesting tunes to me.
Whenever I reached the end of an exhalation and was just about to inhale, it was as though one instrumentalist in the orchestra came in late. Every time.
"Hold on! Wait for me! I have to play my last note!" (Toot) or (squeak) or (rasp) or (trill). Take your pick. No one sound was repeated more than once or twice, then the next variation took its place, a new sound, and so on.
All of these various sounds were preventing my sleep. One sound, however, was downright amusing. In fact, the first time I heard it, I chuckled while stifling a cough. It sounded just like the noise made by a moo can. (Remember cans you inverted and then, when you returned it to an upright position, it made the sound of a mooing cow? In case you don't quite remember the sound, here's a link to jog your memory: https://www.google.com/search?q=what+is+the+toy+that+when+you+turn+it+over+sounds+like+a+cow+mooing&rlz=1C1LENN_enUS927US927&oq=&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUqCQgAECMYJxjqAjIJCAAQIxgnGOoCMgkIARAjGCcY6gIyCQgCECMYJxjqAjIJCAMQIxgnGOoCMgkIBBAjGCcY6gIyCQgFECMYJxjqAjIJCAYQIxgnGOoCMgkIBxAjGCcY6gLSAQoxNjI0MjlqMGo3qAIIsAIB&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:c3c2ccbe,vid:KJvq2Scqa90,st:0.)
As my chest congestion began to break up, the "tweaky" sounds became more rumble and rattle than whistle or moo. And they were a deeper bass. I think that's when I suddenly began to develop a deep, grumbly radio announcer's voice. It was so deep my wife couldn't hear when I spoke to her, even when she did have her hearing aids installed. My voice was so low even sonar couldn't have detect the bottom of it.
Amid this cacophony of thoracic and nasal noises, I would drift into a fitful but dream-crowded sleep. Normal dreams can be interesting, but when encouraged and contributed to by prescription medications, they can be downright weird! I would awaken from them drenched in sweat and confused, but I would as quickly return to sleep and, uncharacteristically, resume the same dream, often returning to the same scene from which I'd been awakened. No wonder I was so tired when I awoke the next morning!
One such repeated dream involved pressure to complete preparations for my next Sunday school lesson, and the deadline was fast approaching. Everyone reminded me of my duty, but no one would allow me time alone to finish it. Awaking from that dream once again, I jumped from bed and set to work, determined to finish my notes. At 3:00 a.m. I won't be teaching that lesson for a while, but the preps for it are finished. And I haven't had a recurrence of that dream. Others, but not that one!