This phobia isn't really in keeping with my personality. In most cases, especially when my job's involved, I can be quite adventurous.
I have flown with a crop duster nicknamed "Crash," gotten my car stuck in a ditch in the city's scariest neighborhood (luckily, a couple of detectives drove by, having just finished interrogating residents about the latest homicide), and traipsed through a patch of woods teeming with water moccasins.
If, however, there ever happened to be an Ebola outbreak in, say, Mississippi, I would run screaming from any editor who tried to send me there.
The same holds true for bird flu. I've already notified everyone in the newsroom that I am perfectly capable of doing my job while holed up in my house with 1,000 cans of tuna and boxes of Saltines.
Hubs has tried to reassure me that if bird flu were to strike, we would head down to rural South Arkansas, far, far away from the germs. (We could live in Grandma Hattie's house, he says, which is ever so conveniently located right smack in the middle of his favorite deer-hunting spot.)
So imagine his consternation when, during our visit to Terlingua Ghost Town in far West Texas, I found a historical marker describing how even this remote area had been hit by the 1918 pandemic.
The marker was here:
I found it while Hubs was taking photos.
We returned from our vacation last night. And guess what was waiting in the stack of mail on our kitchen table?
A handy 14-page booklet from our health insurance providers titled: Preparing for a Pandemic.
Sending something like this to me -- well, imagine a crack addict's reaction if his dealer one day handed him a bundle of freebies.
As I pounced, Hubs groaned.
"Look!" I said gleefully. "My worries have been validated. Even the freaking insurance companies recognize the threat."
The booklet opens with a message from the CEO. After that, it offers lists of instructions:
Comfort food: Buying for a possible pandemic
Family Emergency Health Information Sheet
Caring for those with the flu: Advice from our medical director
I know Hubs will try to destroy it. Or maybe hide it, like he did when the Devil Book of Dire Warnings for Pregnant Women served only to heighten my pregnancy concerns, rather than eliminating them.
That's OK, though. I've already committed the chapter on Shelf-Stable Foods. to memory.
I even have a grocery list.
11 comments:
I am so incredibly afraid.
The pandemic scares the crap out of me. If I just ignore it, will it go away?
It scares me too! But you are lucky to have a place to stay far away from the crowds!
I figure go live on a island - hang on, I do!
Maybe if you build a bunker in the middle of the country and stuck it with food from your grocery list then you'll feel safer. By the way, what's on the suggested shopping list? I'm pretty sure none of the food in my kitchen will actually tide us over if the pandemic lasts longer than 24 hours.
Hey! I have a cousin (2nd...3rd?) Hattie. I always called her "Aunt Hattie" even though she's not my aunt and her real name isn't even Hattie. She lives down in rural, south Arkansas...my home area. Magnolia area in fact.
And yes, we have our deer camps picked out to run to if ever necessary.
Can you scan it and share it with us? I, personally, am preparing for a deadly tornado.
Thanks for making me laugh!
From the frontlines had some links a few weeks ago:
http://fromthefrontlines.blogspot.com/2007/09/thoughts-from-frontlines.html
(happy delurk day!)
SEND ME A COPY, WOMAN! This is the stuff my nightmares are made of. I must get my hands on such literature...
Don't go to deer country! They may be cute, but deer are rife with diseases -- think ticks and such -- aren't they? Hope I'm not feeding the paranoia.
I'm so with you on this. Scares the crap out of me. Hell, my refrigerator scares the crap out of me.
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