[Week 18] On Situation and Story

This post is coming to you from many locations: the band room, my couch, Taylor's couch, a coffee shop in Uptown, bed... I have been trying all weekend to write, with no luck. If one truly needs to wait for their muse each day, perhaps mine got lost on his way to Minneapolis? All the posts I’ve drafted are stories about illness (shocker). They compare this week to the years I spent unwell. They read nicely, that wasn't the problem. I feel unsteady about the topic, or rather, how I was approaching it. 

Like most of the band, I got sick this week, so I originally wrote about that. 

[“I’m sure being sick sucked but it’s good material for your blog” - Text from Taylor, Wednesday, 10a.m.]

My ‘band flu’ blew over within 48 hours. Still, it caused me to reflect on the years where a simple cold could completely derail me.

To quote an earlier rendition of this post — "What a tremendous victory, to be able to tour the world of the sick and depart it again in haste.”

Poetic. Catchy. Grateful. 

There were no emergency visits from respiratory. No mucomyst nebs, pummel vests or suction. No chest x-rays. No hospital admissions. 

I simply woke up Tuesday morning feeling unwell, emailed my professors, and fell asleep again. Wednesday, I was back at work and participating in class. 

In my history seminar on Tuesday, I missed an in-class writing exercise. We were tasked with freewriting the ‘situation’ and the ‘story’ of our paper drafts (think Vivian Gornick). Ironically, I am drafting my final paper around my experiences with Covid in New Zealand, which I contracted (for the first time) while living alone (for the first time), all within one month of landing in New Zealand (less than four months after NZ reopened its borders post-pandemic). 

Aside from some fatigue and lingering issues with taste and smell, my infection passed unremarkably. That memory makes this week’s sore throat and stuffy nose feel almost entirely unmemorable, even when set against years of persistent trauma. 

As it turns out, band flu wasn’t the true situation this week, and recovery wasn’t the story.

Friday was the real adventure. 

My alarm got me up at 545a.m. for some last minute exam prep. It seemed that my one and only midterm fell on the same day as our one and only Friday football game. 

I left home at 930a.m. for my 10a.m. test. Immediately following, I rushed to the stadium to grab my tuba, and then back home to inhale lunch. Dress rehearsal was at the indoor football facility from 1-3p.m. Followed by two tailgate bands, inspection, pregame, and halftime. We performed a Broadway themed show. The Gophers won 21-6. The crowd was electric. I've experienced field rushes before, but none like this. 

The band evacuated about three minutes before the flood. It was an onslaught of nervous excitement, followed by a burst of chaotic joy. Our mob of maroon, gold, and spats sprinted from the tunnels, up the stairs to the higher levels— just in time to watch the students pour onto the turf.

The tubas played shorts victoriously on the colonnade, and I arrived home with sore feet and a full heart at about 1130p.m. 

Today has been for catching up on rest and writing. Band flu set me behind on the homework front. In my many failed blogging attempts, I am reminded that my recovery [illness, disability— what have you] is best left as the situation, not featured as the story. 

Until next week,

El