Remember that time when you were positive that you could navigate yourself to Logan Airport without a GPS? Or when you knew just how to make a vodka watermelon? Or when you were so sure there was an orange Power Ranger? Or when you were pulled over on the shoulder of I-95 North with a partially dismembered watermelon and a full bottle of Kappy's in your trunk and your friend in the front seat demanding five dollars because he Wikipedia-ed it and the orange Power Ranger was actually from "Power Rangers: S.P.D." (which obviously does not count)? Well that happened to me this week, but with swine flu.
This time last Sunday I was presumptuously penning a manifesto for a germless world. In my last column, H1N1 became my metaphor for the consuming fear of unemployment that has crept up and blanketed our campus. I deplored the over-zealousness of the administration, my friends, and my mother in trying to prevent either epidemic from getting anywhere near Tufts. Twenty-four hours later, I could be found in the fetal position on my bed, talking through a surgical mask into the phone.
"Mommy," I moaned. "I have the swine!"
That's right. Mere hours after I turned in my column (which was, incidentally, mere hours after it was due…), it became apparent that I was not well. Even as I typed the words advising everyone to just wash their hands and get on with their lives, the dreaded virus was multiplying inside of me. Karma? Probably. It was like "Osmosis Jones: the College Years" or that episode of "The Magic School Bus" where the whole class goes inside Arnold's body. Either way, I started feeling seriously ill and what do you know — the fine people at Health Services told me I had the flu.
"Wait, the swine flu?"
"The H1N1 virus."
"So, you're telling me I have the swine flu."
"Well … yes."
There was egg all over my face. Like, an entire carton of eggs. As I walked (read: crawled) out of the office, I actually saw really sick-looking people with masks on reading my article about how the swine flu was "whatever." Oops.
Don't get me wrong, I stand by a lot of what I said last week; it is going to be OK, you will get a job and Tufts does send us too many emails with too little information. Let me make an addendum, however: a lot of us will probably get swine flu, too. Especially those of us who have seen me at all in the last week — sorry! I'm not going to assure you that even if you get it, you're probably not going to die from it, because with my track record I would probably keel over as soon as I hit "send." I will tell you though, that while everybody's favorite flu might suck, it is swift. Forty-eight hours of wanting my mommy and I was good to go, though I still have the highly stigmatized runny nose. I guess I deserve to be ostracized at this point.
So Tufts students, hear me when I say this: I still think you will get a job and have a moderately happy life. I still think it is unacceptable to wear suspenders if your pants are tight enough to stay up on their own and you are under 65. I am the same Jessie Borkan you all know and may or may not love. But I do owe anyone who has, had, or will have the flu an apology: I'm sorry. Go wash your hands as many times as you want and I will not judge you. Don't let me use your Chapstick, no matter how many times I ask. I will stop with the mask jokes. Do what you have to do, and when it's all said and done, it just might have been worth it.
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Jessie Borkan is a senior majoring in psychology. She can be reached at Jessie.Borkan@tufts.edu.
