A. Lincoln Ispas
SILENT ASSASSINS
Have you ever wondered how flu and cold bugs manage to sneak up on you and attack without remorse before you know what’s happening?
Now that the lazy, dazy days of summer are over, you know deep in your heart of hearts that the bugs are going to get you. It happens every year, as sure as the coming of cool and rainy days, floating leaves and naked trees. You turn up the thermostat, take an extra dose of vitamins, dress in warm clothes when you go outdoors. But, still, winter’s silent assassins stalk you.
The question is: What can you do to avoid the attack by natures bioweapons?
Well, I think I finally figured it out. Not much. Why? Because they visit you in disguise, like a tiny spider hidden deep inside the petals of a beautiful flower. You are enthralled by their visit. You lower your defenses when they charge through the open door. Your heart strings twang with rapture and your eyes glow with joy. You’re delighted to see them, and you welcome them with open arms. Your lovely daughter and her adorable children have come for a visit. You don’t know it, but they’ve brought the silent assassins with them.
“Can you watch them a couple of hours while I go shopping?” your daughter asks.
“Of course,” you answer.
“Hi Nanna, hello Poppy,” the little darlings shout, showering you with warm smiles and hugs and kisses, as their parents slam the door behind them. “I love you.”
“I love you too sweetie,” you whisper in their ears. You pick them up in your arms and you return their hugs and kisses. It all feels so natural, so nice, as you cuddle them. After all, you haven’t seen the sweet little things in almost a month.
You set them down and they head for the toy box, emptying it into the middle of the living room floor. You smile and watch them play. They’re such beautiful, fun loving, adorable children. After a while they start to squabble and abandon the toys. Then they bring you a book to read.
“Read us a story,” they say.
“Sure, jump on my lap,” you answer.
Half way through the story you hear a rumble and a roar as their diapers swell without ceremony from their grumbling intestines. Stumbling over the toys that litter the floor, you hold your nose and carry them to the bedroom to change their mustard colored diapers, then return to the living room to read to them some more. Moments later they snort and sneeze, showering you with slimy goblets of goo. You blow their noses and read on, like it was the most natural thing in the universe. You don’t know it yet, but you’re now under attack.
A few days later you realize that the not so subtle attack by the silent assassins is underway. By the end of the week you’re coughing up yellow-uglies, and your insides turn and twist like a twizzle stick. You’re no longer in denial. It’s time to visit the doctor.
“What can I do for you?” the doctor asks.
“I think I need a flu shot,” you answer, as you cough into your handkerchief.
“Too late,” the doctor replies, as he carefully checks you over like a mechanic looking for an oil leak. “It looks like you’ve already been inoculated.”
So you take the doctor’s advice. You go home, have a bowl of chicken soup, take a couple of aspirins and Imodium, and go to bed. Hopefully you’ll quickly win the battle and beat down winter’s silent assassins. But don’t count on it. Your children called to see how you’re feeling, and you just invited them over for Thanksgiving dinner.