"If you take raw garlic daily," I had told her confidently, "you don't get colds."
I expected too much of that garlic. It kept me hale and hearty through a trip overseas (I usually return with a leaky nose), through a week (and change) of jet lag, but then . . .
Leaving work on a Friday afternoon with a song in my heart (and stuck in my head), I couldn't understand why nervous preoccupation gradually edged out my cheeriness.
The cause? A suspicious rippling in my belly. (A gut feeling! Get it?) A stomach bug cometh, I realized with dread. No. No! I would not accept this quietly! I was going to fight!
Three times that night, I downed raw chopped and aerated garlic. The next morning I awoke smug—the queasiness and pangs were gone.
Except now I had a fever. Ha ha. Well, some more garlic then, eh?
I hobbled about wrapped in a blanket for the rest of the day. I felt crummy, but I have felt crummier.
Sunday dawned fresh with promise. Except my nose was oddly drippy. Allergies, I thought confidently. My room just needs a thorough vacuuming, that's all. It can't be a cold. I garlicked like mad!
It was a cold. Good thing I stocked up on Kleenex lotion tissues the prior week. I fished out the neti pot and knocked back echinacea. And raw garlicked some more.
I must admit that while it was definitely a cold, it was a mild one. My head didn't feel stuffed with cotton wool, my throat didn't hurt, I coughed but a few times.
My nose was rubbed raw—a Rudolph honker can't ever be avoided—and I did terrorize passerby with a few violent sneezes.
I was meant to be sick. No wiggling out of it this time.