The dreaded “Man Cold” has been crippling the male species since time began. The Bible doesn’t go into detail, but I’m convinced that Adam agreed to eat the apple because his judgment was clouded by a “man cold.”
I read the following article on MSN that describes the man cold and gives women some tips on how to treat it.
This “debilitating disease” can be “near fatal,” says the Urban Dictionary. It’s specific to the male species and demands fast attention.
The symptoms are horrible: coughing, sneezing, sore throat, low energy and the telltale man-whine. What’s a girl to do? Yes, it’s up to the opposite sex to save their men from their colds. Let’s go through the drill:
Do not put him in bed. Instead, let him recoup here.
Turn on the TV - fast. Find some sports or cartoons and give him the remote control.
He’ll be too weak to call for you, so make sure to check in on him every three minutes. A little bell is also helpful.
He’ll need an endless supply of tissues, fast food, cookies and lots of tea.
Once he shows signs of improvement (by asking you what you’re doing every 10 minutes), he’s ready for movie therapy. Star Wars, James Bond, or sports related movies work well during this next step in the man cold treatment plan. Note: No matter how much he begs, do not let him watch “Brian’s Song.” In his weakened state, the emotional drain will be too much for him.
If a week has gone by and there’s no improvement, bring out the big guns: have a chick flick marathon consisting of Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, Steel Magnolias, and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and if he’s not in the shower after that, tell him you can’t remember if you feed a cold, starve a fever or the reverse, so you’d better ask your mother to come over.
He’ll be back on his feet before you can say, “Do these pants make my butt look big?”
My friend, Teendoc, who blogs at Welcome to the Dollhouse, first diagnosed my man cold a few weeks ago when I was pleading for sympathy on Twitter. My ailing fingers could barely type out the message, but I needed the world to know how miserable I was. Teendoc responded with a link to this video. After I watched it I thought, “Finally, a doctor who understands my misery.” I showed the video to my wife so she could have a better understanding of what I was going through. She went into a tirade about how mothers don’t have the luxury of having a “man cold” because they have to blah, blah, blah. I pulled my blanket over my head because I was way too sick to comprehend her rambling (BTW, this was a bad move).
A week later, I contracted a stomach virus. Instead of displaying sympathy, my daughter looked at my wife and said, “Oh, no. Looks like dad has another man cold. I guess he’ll be in bed all day, again.”
Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad
Question: Who handles illnesses better, men or women?
Today my wife and I took our boys for their pediatric check-ups. While we were there, the doctor asked if we had any “Mr. Yuk” stickers. I told her that we didn’t and she brought us a few to place around the house. When I looked at those stickers, memories of my childhood came flooding back. I immediately recalled the old “Mr. Yuk” commercial from the 70s. That commercial scared the crap out of me when I was a kid. The ominous “Mr. Yuk is mean. Mr. Yuk is green” followed by diabolical laughter was enough to keep me out of the medicine cabinet. “Mr. Yuk” was a bad dude and I didn’t want any part of him.
This walk down memory lane prompted me to do a YouTube search to find the commercial. I was pleased to find it and I’d like to share it with you. All of you 70s kids will be able to relate.
I showed the commercial to my kids and explained to them why they should not touch items with “Mr. Yuk” stickers. They didn’t seem as scared of “Mr. Yuk” as I was. Maybe it takes more than a green dude to frighten this generation.
My wife, K, and I were frightened a few years ago when my son, N, swallowed some of the oil I use to lubricate my clippers. K freaked out when she noticed him walking out of our bathroom holding the bottle.
“Oh my, God,” she said. “He drank some of that oil.” I tried to play it cool, but I was scared because I took drug counseling course that taught us how oils coat the lungs and cuts off breathing. We weren’t sure if he had ingested any or not, but we weren’t about to take any chances. K called Poison Control to find out what we needed to do. They gave us detailed instructions and we followed them to the letter. We are thankful that he only swallowed a small amount and we were able to flush his system before any serious damage occurred. But the situation could have been much worse if we didn’t have access to the Poison Control Center.
I implore each of you to make sure that you have the Poison Control number in an accessible place. Post it on the refrigerator, in the bathroom and any other location that houses hazardous chemicals. For those who don’t have the phone number, it is (800) 222-1212.
In the span of two weeks, I have been victimized by vomit three times.
The first incident occurred two weeks ago when I was watching the kids while their mother went to swimming lessons. I fed the baby his dinner, but he still seemed hungry. I searched the cupboard for some Cheerios and poured some on his tray. He scarfed those down and was crying for more food. I gave him a few Cheez-its crackers and they seemed to sate him.
When I took him out of the high chair and attempted to walk to the living room, that’s when it happened. X’s poor belly had reached critical mass and I was the recipient of a Cheerios, Cheez-it, baby food shower.
I had been lucky up until this point. This was the first time that I had been vomited on even though I had three kids. Unfortunately, it would not be my last.
On Friday, I was in McDonald’s with Nee and N to get them a treat after school. At the counter, I turned to ask N if he wanted an ice cream cone or a sundae. He said that he didn’t want anything. He only wanted to go home. I found his response to be odd since he had never refused a McDonald’s treat. Within seconds, I understood the reason for his refusal. Vomit shot from his mouth to my pants. I rushed N to the restroom as he left a trail of vomit through the restaurant. Nee, who has a knack for stating the obvious, was yelling, “Daddy, N’s throwing up! He’s throwing up in McDonald’s!”
There were no paper towels in the restroom so I cleaned him the best I could with toilet paper and scuttled him to the car to get him home. Later I thought about those poor McDonald’s workers who had to clean up the mess we left behind. Sorry guys.
It turned out that N had a stomach virus. I’ll spare you the details of the events that followed later that night because I’m sure your stomach cannot take it.
As N regained his health, we thought that the worse was over. Wrong! The virus wanted to give X a chance to feel miserable.
I noticed that he wasn’t himself as I attempted to box with him. He usually giggles and sticks out his little belly for me to punch it. Today, he sat quietly with a glassy-eyed look.
K told me to leave him alone as she took him to the couch to comfort him. He rested his little head on her bosom as she gently stroked his head. Suddenly, she screamed, “X has the stomach virus!” I ran into the living room to see a gusher of vomit covering K’s shirt, our new leather couch and rug. Earlier, K said, “If he gets it, it won’t be so bad because he spits up on me all the time.” It was much worse than she imagined.
K scurried off with X to clean him up while I was left to deal with the aftermath. I went through a whole roll of paper towels before I could declare the couch vomit-free.
Meanwhile, K was upstairs dealing with round two. I had to find her another shirt to wear as she struggled to clean the baby again.
To make things worse, Nee, is complaining that her stomach hurts. I fear that it’s going to be a long night.
I read that Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps eats an estimated 12,000 calories per day. Even with this large consumption of food, Phelps has a hard time gaining weight because of his intense training schedule and super metabolism.
I remember those days when I could eat anything and not gain a pound. I didn’t gain my freshman 15 until I was out of college and only because I started lifting weights heavily. But when I reached my 30s, the fairytale was over. Work, family and other commitments kept me from the gym and years of office work and expense account meals helped to expand my waistband. Today if I were to eat as many calories as Michael Phelps does, I would have to have my own zip code.
I was in denial about the amount of weight I was gaining. Sure, I had to go up one pant size, but I chalked it up designer’s cutting their clothes differently. Of course, I got the snide remarks from family members about how fat I was getting (ya gotta love family), but I ignored them by rationalizing that they were just used to seeing me very thin.
I had gotten so lethargic that I wouldn’t even play with the kids in the backyard no matter how much they begged. It took two events to make me do something about my personal fitness and weight.
The first was when I ran into a colleague, whom I had not seen in over a decade. I said hello and he stared at me blankly. When my face finally registered, he said that he didn’t recognize me because I had gained so much weight. I was shocked. The next motivator was my 20-Year high school class reunion. In high school, I weighed 125 lbs soaking wet. I had to look my best when I walked in the door.
To start the weight loss process, I stepped on the scale with much fear and trepidation. When I looked down, it read 188 lbs. I couldn’t believe it. I convinced myself that the scale was wrong. A subsequent weigh-in at the YMCA proved that it was right.
I immediately changed the way I ate, no more fried foods or sodas, and kept an online food journal. I know that the journal sounds a little anal retentive (my wife calls me the food Nazi), but it kept me on track by keeping me informed on where my calories were coming from. I also started exercising again. It was painful at first and I hated every bit of it. After a few weeks, the workouts became easier and I looked forward to them.
So far, I have lost, and kept off, 20 lbs. I won’t burden you with my before and after photos (although, I am really tempted to take off my shirt and show off my new bod). Suffice it to say that I am fitter and stronger than I have been in a long time. The BMI chart says that I should lose about 15 more pounds. That’s not gonna happen. As long as I can remain between 165-170 lbs, I’m good.
I’m pleased that Dr. Ian along with Allstate started the 50 Million Pound Challenge in order to tackle obesity in our community. It’s a serious problem that is causing African Americans to suffer from high blood pressure, heart disease, and diabetes at alarming rates.
If you’ve been considering losing weight, I encourage you to go for it. Let me warn you that it won’t be easy. There will be several occasions when you’ll be tempted to revert to your old ways; however, when you start to see the numbers on the scale go backwards, you will feel more energized and committed. And when you finally reach your target, you will wonder why you didn’t do it sooner. I certainly did.
Now instead of sitting on the couch with the remote in my hand, I spend evenings practicing soccer with my son, jumping rope with my daughter, or playing “Tag” with the both of them. No begging necessary.
The dreaded “Man Cold” has been crippling the male species since time began. The Bible doesn’t go into detail, but I’m convinced that Adam agreed to eat the apple because his judgment was clouded by a “man cold.”
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