Cold RX: Drink liquids — lots and lots of liquids
There’s a cold bug going around and today we’re going to tell you how you can get rid of it. Notice I said “you.” I’ve given up trying to get rid of my cold, and have resorted to just lying on the couch and whimpering, while making my wife take care of the kids. She always takes care of them anyway — but I feel a lot less guilty about it when I’m sick.
First things first: There are many ways in which to catch a cold. You can get it through touching, kissing, handshaking or by being within a half-mile of the North Avenue Walmart.
According to WebMD, most colds go away in three to seven days. Most. Not yours. After the seven days you give it to your spouse, who repays you with it, which, you in turn give it to your co-workers who give it back to you a week later, like the worst Christmas present ever.
Now on to the cures that don’t involve suicide. I’m speaking of OTC medicine, of which I am an expert. So much Nyquil and Sudafed have been purchased by our household that we’ve made it onto several drug enforcement watch lists.
Never mind wine reviews, if the Sentinel ever needs a nasal decongestant column, I’m their guy. (“The zesty, exotic aroma of Cherry Nyquil teases the palate with subtle notes of exotic fruits. This bold and distinguished 2013 New Jersey vintage delightfully sings when paired with poultry — particularly Campbell’s Chicken Soup. And it’s crisp, clear aftertaste invites the question: Is that a hint of raspberry? Or is it acetaminophen?”)
The drawback to Nyquil is that it gives you freakishly odd dreams. I have a recurring nightmare in which a groundhog is chasing Hillary Clinton and me with an assault weapon during a record snowstorm.
I have got to stop falling asleep to the 10 o’clock news.
These medicines don’t work. Which is why I was thrilled to read about a recent cold-remedy breakthrough from Sapporo Medical University in Japan. Sapporo, by the way, is a Japanese beer. It may sound pretty cool to live in a place where the research hospitals are named after beer but, in reality, you probably don’t want to have any type of invasive surgery performed at, say, “Keystone Light Hospital.”
According to these scientists, a chemical found in a beer’s hops called humulone can help alleviate some cold symptoms. Researchers, however, warned that the small traces of humulone found in each beer would require one to “drink around 30 cans for it to have any virus-fighting effect.”
Drinking over a case of beer is a cold-remedy plan I can latch onto, I’m just skeptical of the clinical trial that proved this:
7:48 p.m. - 11th beer. “Subject experiences fewer coughing episodes. He also spontaneously breaks out in a rendition of ‘Call Me Maybe.’ “
9:03 p.m. - 15th beer. “Subject appears more energetic, as evidenced by the numerous sexual advances he’s made toward the research assistant.”
10:16 p.m. - 21st beer. “A noticeable decrease in nasal discharge is recorded, even as subject aggressively challenges Dr. Lerner to, ‘throwdown’ in the parking lot.”
11:43 p.m. - 30th beer. “Subject appears to be resting comfortably, albeit outside, between the juniper bushes.”
So I won’t try the 30 beers a day plan. I could go to the doctor, but I don’t want to use up valuable medical resources for something as minor as this. I know if I go, the receptionist will ask me what’s wrong. I’ll tell her I have a cold. And she’ll shake her head in disgust — telling me to take a seat in between the expectant mother ready to deliver quintuplets and the man with the ax sticking out of his forehead.
Still I may go soon. I have to. Mrs. Clinton says the groundhog is catching up to us.