There comes a time when all college students must face the fact that they are independent adults. This realization didn’t really set in when I first dealt with having to buy toilet paper on my own. It didn’t set in the first time I messed up the laundry and turned a white shirt pink, nor did it hit me when I had to buy my own milk at the market. The real first time I was met with the horrifying reality that I am an adult was the first time I got sick.
I’m sure there are plenty of college students who will agree when I say that being sick for the first time without your parents there to take care of you is quite possibly the worst thing in this world. You might want to argue, “But Brooke! There are much worse things in the world!” No, you’re wrong. The first time I woke up with my head pounding and nose running, I coughed painfully and thought, “Well, somebody’s going to have to deal with this.” I probably looked around for a second before realizing, “Oh! It’s me!” It was a struggle I had faced many times before, growing up with a weak immune system, but in college it was a completely different struggle.
For one thing, being sick for the first time turned me into my own mom. I had to make my own soup. I had to get my own tissues to keep beside my bed. I didn’t have my mom there to tuck me in and check on me periodically throughout the day. I specifically remember calling my mom the first time I got sick at school and she, of course, was sympathetic. But the “Aw, sweetie! I’m so sorry to hear that!” was followed by a prolonged silence and “What do you want me to do about that?” Oh, right. She definitely lives 400 miles away. Did I want my mom to drop everything to fly up to San Francisco and baby me? (Yes, but I’m not going to admit that because I’m a grown up). It was upsetting and terrible, but here I am; alive and doing reasonably well, save for a little cough.
A problem that I have recently faced is buying drugs. No, not like that. I mean the kind you buy to keep yourself alive through a three hour biology lecture when your head is stuffed up so badly it’s threatening to explode. I’ve made many a trip to Target in my pajamas, holding a package of medicine in one hand and my phone in the other, asking my mom what on earth pseudoephedrine is and whether or not it will kill me (disclaimer: it’s nasal decongestant, and no, it didn’t kill me!). It’s kind of a pain having to use my own judgement (and money!) to buy medicine, tissues and food, but that’s just what being a grown up is all about, right? Right?
With this independence comes the decision of whether or not to go to classes. Back in high school and even earlier, my parents would encounter my sickness and decide that “There’s no way she can go to school!” Or, more often, “Brooke, you’re fine, please get up.” Even if I claimed to be dying (which was often), my mom could always see through my act and would force me out of bed, while my much easier to fool dad would argue, “Honey, she can’t go to school! Look at her!” In college, there is no parental squabble over whether I will be attending my classes or not. Instead, I have to remember that I am paying money for an education and I have to really evaluate whether I am truly too sick to function and if I want to impact my attendance.
On top of all of this, it is evident that trying to avoid getting sick would be the most beneficial move. However, moving to college, for me, also meant moving in with four roommates. Living in such close quarters means that when one of us gets sick, we’re all going down.
I know when I hear that first cough in our apartment that there is no hope left. I have probably already been infected and I’ll have to not only take care of myself, but (being the Jewish mother-in-training that I am) it’s likely I’ll be cooking up chicken soup and making constant runs to the market for decongestant and vitamin C for my roommates until we’re all snotty messes and it’s every man for himself. It is nice, though, to know that there are people who want to help and be my College Moms, just as I am theirs.
