STRANGER THAN FICTION: GETTING SICK JUST ISN'T THE SAME

Once you graduate high school, being sick is no fun at all.

If you're in school but not writhing-in-pain sick, you get to spend the day drinking Sprite in front of the TV, watching Whitney tell Stuart about the illegitimate twins she bore five years ago following their sordid love affair during the sale of his multinational conglomerate to Bradley Buffington, who is actually a transvestite.

The worst that can happen is you miss Mrs. Hinklebaum's lecture on the workings of an earthworm's spleen.

The working world is entirely different. If you're newly employed, you don't have any sick days, but you do have a car payment and a strong need for food and shelter. It's best that you drag your suffering tail into work.

Anyway, it's not worth it when you come back from a sick day and discover your favorite paperweight lost forever under a pile of press releases.

Years ago, when getting sick wasn't a penalty, I never got sick. I think Mom was the reason. She made us kids eat some sort of citrus fruit every morning before we left for school, even if we had just brushed our teeth and she was serving grapefruit. Yuck.

Mom didn't much believe in aspirin or frequent trips to the doctor. She actually brewed tea to treat our ailments. Upset stomach? Peppermint. Cramps? Black Cohosh. Sore throat? Golden Seal. Headache? Sleep.

~But it was only a matter of time before I fell in with the wrong crowd. My friends started telling me about weird new drugs to make you feel good, like Tylenol, Actifed and Midol PMS. I discovered the cheap thrill of over-the-counter medication.

I almost wish Mom was still in charge of my health care, though, because once I moved out, all Hades broke loose. Forgetting that citrus-once-a-day philosophy, I fell victim to colds, sore throats and sinus infections. There was no saving me.

The latest bout was this week, when I felt the beginnings of a sore throat. My worst fears were confirmed when My Current Interest went to the emergency room, unable to swallow, and tested positive for strep throat.

"You know, you can get it from saliva," one of my friends giggled.

Stupid twit.

All the orange juice in the world couldn't save me. I swallowed gallons of generic throat antiseptic, but it didn't help. I called my doctor, who was out of town, of course. I meet more new doctors that way.

Every third person in the waiting room was having a throat culture done, so I imagine the healthy people in there for routine checkups were thrilled to be seated next to us. We sat around sneezing and coughing on each other, comparing horror stories and feeling each other's glands.

An hour later, the new doctor saw me. I really liked him.

"Sore throat?" he asked.

"Strep," I replied.

"So what do you want?"

"Cheap antibiotics."

"Allergic to penicillin?"

"Yep."

"E-mycin okay?"

"My favorite!"

Forty-five bucks for a conversation that brief. Unbelievable.

After a few really bizarre days at work -- ones where I stood trying to remember where I left my desk -- I felt much better. Mr. Interest is doing okay, too.

On to more happy topics. Like poverty.

Lynn, the friend who has put up with me the longest, was telling me about the joys of single motherhood, which led to a conversation about the weirdest things we've done due to lack of money.

She actually robbed her child's college fund -- a huge glass bottle full of change -- and rolled pennies to buy $2 in gasoline. The cashier couldn't believe it.

I'll save MY stories for a future column, but I want to hear yours, anonymous or otherwise. Please take a couple minutes to call or write me at the Southeast Missourian, P.O. Box 699, Cape Girardeau, Mo. 63702. I've got voice mail here.

If you don't, I'll cry and whine. So there.

~Heidi Nieland is a member of the Southeast Missourian's news staff.