I was a fool. Before I came, I heard rumors about Stevens’ strong winds threatening to blow you away. You had to fight against Mother Nature as you desperately scrambled to class. Yeah, I thought I could handle this. I loved standing on top of mountains with the bellowing winds of tangled hair and conversations lost to the wind. Yeah, I could handle this.
To be fair, it wasn’t that bad in September. The winds were a pleasant breeze, a crisp signal of fall. I walked to classes, not listening to the gentle reminders on my way. I had more important things like homework and quizzes to worry about. One day, I couldn’t remember which, the winds became fall’s frosty welcoming, and the mornings were tainted with a frigid edge. Eh, I could handle it, I thought as everyone around me dressed up in cozy sweaters and warm jackets. Eh, it’s just the wind, I thought as the nights grew darker the days went shorter. I could handle it.
I could remember the exact day it all went wrong. It was a Thursday, which meant I had a physics quiz. But, as I was hiking towards Pierce, all I could think about were the chilling winds, like frost threatening to overwhelm me. The soft winds transformed into a raging hurricane, ready to blow me away. Who cared about my starving stomach? Who cared about the quiz? I was probably going to fail. I rushed back to my dorm, desperate for a sweater, jacket, or anything that could keep me from feeling the bitter breeze.
In hindsight, I should have listened to the obvious warnings. But I liked the crisp winds, the breezes dancing through the air. I wanted to enjoy those precious fall moments before winter’s dawn. Honestly, those temperatures only lasted for a couple of hours. When I went out for dinner, the winds were back to a quiet whisper. So, I was right: I could handle the wind.
I couldn’t handle the sickness.
Apparently, walking through cold, windy places could lead to coughing, a runny nose, and an awful week. Who knew? Day after day, I felt like I was drowning, desperate for air. My body was choking itself, hoping to force the illness out. I could never anticipate when that strangling feeling came and never when it disappeared.
The coughing was worse, the retching feeling that made you want to throw up and cry yourself to sleep. Trust me, I really wanted to cry myself to sleep. Especially, one night, where I laid trapped in bed, coughing through the darkness. Bundled up in blankets, I was praying to let darkness overtake me. Yet my cough was merciless, forcing me to stay up in pain. 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m. Countless hours drifted away as I accepted my fate.
Even now, I feel the aftermath, the coughs I hope aren’t warnings. Was my sick week an omen of what was to come? Were the winds foretelling something worse? Was I going to spend a week bedridden during finals? I don’t know. But sweaters are looking awfully comfy now.
