I caught a cold last week. Or, rather, as my high school health teacher, Mr. Burch, would have pointed out, I let myself catch a cold.

I was on a bicycle when I it happened.

We were riding through a neighboring neighborhood and only a few minutes into it, I realized that the early evening temperature was cooler than I�d anticipated. I immediately wished I worn my jean jacket. As we continued on, my throat started feeling tight, dry and slightly irritated. I could feel a bit of stuffiness coming on by the time I went to bed several hours later. My husband thought it was my imagination, but the next morning I was hugging the tissue box.

Once a year or so I get one of those gushing sorts of colds that come on strong and develop quickly into sinusitis and, overnight, into bronchitis.

Thank goodness for cold medicines. They may not turn off the waterworks totally, but a dripping faucet is sure better than one that stays at full power and won�t shut off at all.

I know, I know. Mr. Burch also told us in high school that taking medicine for a cold only prolongs the symptoms. I don�t care. There�s a limit to how much blowing your nose can take before you head to the store for a box of pretty pills that promise relief and reprieve.

Our medicine chest is fully stocked with a variety of pills and liquids, for both children and adults. I looked there to see what we had and took five boxes from the top shelf for further inspection. There were orange softgels, blue softgels, large red and white gelcaps, small pink and white gelcaps and, finally, tiny round red tablets.

Just call me a modern-day Alice in Wonderland.

I chose the orange ones. While they cleared up my sinuses better than a bite of jalapeno pepper, they had the unfortunate side effect of making my brain feel like it was floating in helium. So, the next day, I traded them in for blue ones that were specifically for "severe congestion." I liked them so much I bought two more packages. Eventually, once my blowing was under control, I worked my way down to some red liquid to beat my cough into submission.

I was tempted to ride out the tidal wave of congestion without a trip to the doctor�s office. Then, I woke up on the fifth day of all this sounding like an angry frog.

Good morning, laryngitis.

My husband called and made the appointment.

As the physician�s assistant reminded me, laryngitis is a symptom, not its own sickness. He prescribed an antibiotic for the infection roaming freely around my nasal and bronchial passages, then suggested gargling with salt water for the laryngitis.

I made a very un-adult face when he mentioned salt water. I didn�t go into detail but that was one of the most hated of my parents� loving, well-meant remedies when I was growing up. I�ve never even subjected my own child to this particular torture. Just the thought of placing a glass with warm salt water to my lips makes me grimace. You�d need a whole pound of sugar to make me get that particular "medicine" down.

The PA also advised me not to whisper as this puts more stress on the vocal cords. Of course, this was easy for him to say. He didn�t sound like a worn-out squeaky toy.

For the next few days I couldn�t call anyone�I was afraid they�d think it was a crank call or a lousy connection. I screened calls and only answered the ones from people who knew I was sick.

As the cough developed I avoided laughter at all costs. "Don�t make me laugh. It cough . . . cough . . . hurts." Hacking your way through a joke just isn�t worth the momentary levity.

Anyway, having a cough and cold is no laughing matter. I don�t know about you, but my sense of humor goes right into the trash when I�m sick, where it�s promptly buried under an avalanche of wadded up tissues and empty tissue boxes.

Sure, now that it�s behind me I can joke about it. But laughter is definitely not the best medicine when it�s me lying on the couch feeling sorry for myself because it�s a beautiful spring day and I�d rather curl up under a blanket with the curtains closed.

Of course, the best part about getting sick is feeling better. Finally, there was a night of uninterrupted sleep and a day when a pocketful of tissues lasted longer than five minutes. I could breathe without sounding like Darth Vader. I felt light-headed and giddy�and relieved to know that this state wasn�t the side effect of any medicine.

Kay Hafner says she�s glad she didn�t have to write this column while suffering from her cold. Now that she�s up and around again, you can contact her via email at [email protected].

copyright Kay Hafner 2002