By Dr. Kate Scannell, Syndicated Columnist
First Published in Print: 01/19/2013
Last week, while sitting in a doctor's crowded waiting room, I watched the new season of the Winter Flu Olympics.
A sneezing competition was in progress when I arrived. And within mere minutes of taking my seat, I thought I had witnessed the worst sneeze I might ever see in my entire life. It erupted without warning from a young man, slouched in his chair, tethered to an iPod, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. His Vesuvian sneeze rocked the room, spewed a misty cloud of viral detritus throughout our cramped quarters. It was an appallingly effortless performance -- entailing not even the slightest gesture toward covering his mouth.
I was ready to score him a perfect 10 in the category of "most obnoxious sneeze, greatest risk of public contagion." But then an older gentleman came out of nowhere and trumped him. He suddenly stood up, placed his hands on his hips, bent abruptly backward and inhaled deeply. Several of us tried to protect ourselves -- turning away or wrapping scarves across our faces. Alas, like a whipsaw, his body bent violently forward, flinging a wet and turbulent "ahhHHH-CHOooooo!" into the collective airspace.
In other events: Competitive coughing generated comparable infectious excitement within the room. And rivalry remained fierce, running nose-to-nose, for "greatest number of missed tissue-tosses into the wastebasket."
Still, as engrossing as these events may have been, I soon realized that every passing moment spent in the waiting room only increased my risk of getting sick. My hopes for leaving infection-free depleted faster than all the Purell dispensers stationed by the doors.
I derived meager consolation in considering how the experience might help inform the next revision of my best-selling book, "The Sick Person's Etiquette Guide -- How to Contain Your Own Secretions with Style and Make the World a Healthier Place." Published by the Common Sense Medical Association, it makes for a good read in front of the fireplace during a cold winter's night ... or, actually, just during a cold.
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First Published in Print: 01/19/2013
Last week, while sitting in a doctor's crowded waiting room, I watched the new season of the Winter Flu Olympics.
A sneezing competition was in progress when I arrived. And within mere minutes of taking my seat, I thought I had witnessed the worst sneeze I might ever see in my entire life. It erupted without warning from a young man, slouched in his chair, tethered to an iPod, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. His Vesuvian sneeze rocked the room, spewed a misty cloud of viral detritus throughout our cramped quarters. It was an appallingly effortless performance -- entailing not even the slightest gesture toward covering his mouth.
I was ready to score him a perfect 10 in the category of "most obnoxious sneeze, greatest risk of public contagion." But then an older gentleman came out of nowhere and trumped him. He suddenly stood up, placed his hands on his hips, bent abruptly backward and inhaled deeply. Several of us tried to protect ourselves -- turning away or wrapping scarves across our faces. Alas, like a whipsaw, his body bent violently forward, flinging a wet and turbulent "ahhHHH-CHOooooo!" into the collective airspace.
In other events: Competitive coughing generated comparable infectious excitement within the room. And rivalry remained fierce, running nose-to-nose, for "greatest number of missed tissue-tosses into the wastebasket."
Still, as engrossing as these events may have been, I soon realized that every passing moment spent in the waiting room only increased my risk of getting sick. My hopes for leaving infection-free depleted faster than all the Purell dispensers stationed by the doors.
I derived meager consolation in considering how the experience might help inform the next revision of my best-selling book, "The Sick Person's Etiquette Guide -- How to Contain Your Own Secretions with Style and Make the World a Healthier Place." Published by the Common Sense Medical Association, it makes for a good read in front of the fireplace during a cold winter's night ... or, actually, just during a cold.
Read More