COMMENTS & CURIOSITIES -- peter buffa

I don’t know anyone. Anyone who hasn’t come down with the flu, that is,

in one form or another.

Right around Christmas seemed to be the preferred time to crash and burn.

Ever wonder where the word “influenza” came from?

Nor has anyone else, but I’ll tell you anyway.

During the Renaissance, there were some horrific outbreaks of the flu in

Europe and the church summoned some deep thinkers of the time to look

into it. They went to their rooms, thought very deep thoughts and decided

that the epidemics were caused by the influence of certain planetary

alignments. The disease itself came to be known as the “influence,” or,

in Italian, “influenza.”

Now, be honest with me. Is there anywhere else you can find information

so profoundly useless? Thank you so much. We do what we can.

As flu seasons go, this one is nasty but it isn’t the bell ringer. Not by

a longshot. That honor belongs to the year 1918. A strain called “Spanish

flu” spread from country to country like a firestorm. By the time it was

over, 14 million people across the globe were dead.

Actually, no one dies from the flu. It’s the complications, usually

pneumonia, that can be fatal. Well, this is uplifting, isn’t it? I feel

much better now.

Every flu season has its trademark and this one seems to be the hacking,

never-ending cough. I haven’t heard this much coughing since Hillary

asked Bill if he knew someone named Monica.

The most frustrating thing, of course, is that there’s very little you

can do about it. Get plenty of rest, drink lots of liquids, etc., etc.

But mostly you’re on your own, Sneezy. It’s just you, the box of tissues

and the pile of over-the-counter stuff that doesn’t really help but makes

you think you’re doing something.

Speaking of medicine, what about those commercials for prescription

drugs? What is that all about? You’ve seen them, I’m sure -- ads from

pharmaceutical companies that try to persuade you to ask your doctor to

prescribe whatever-it-is on your next visit.

The ads are very well done, very touchy-feely. If the music isn’t

“Yanni,” it’s a Yanni wannabe. (Talk about low self-esteem.) There’s

always a man and a woman. She’s beautiful, with sparkling white hair. He

looks like Robert Wagner and does that sweater thing where you toss it

over your shoulders and tie the sleeves around your neck. Yack.

Anyway, they’re usually walking along some beautiful shoreline at sunset

while their golden retriever plays in the surf. Voice-over: “If

cholesterol is a concern, one word can put your mind at ease.

‘Triswallowin’ -- from Johnson & Mayer. You’ve earned these precious

moments. Don’t let worries about cholesterol steal them away. Ask your

doctor for Triswallowin, from Johnson & Mayer ... because only the best

is good enough.”

OK, fine. But answer me this. Who on earth would do that? When the doctor

says, “Gee, that’s interesting. We’ve never seen anyone with a

cholesterol count of 340 before,” and starts to write out a prescription

-- exactly who is going to say, “Oh listen, Doc, I almost forgot. Would

you mind making that for Triswallowin?”

I don’t think so. On this planet, he hands you the prescription, you take

it to the drugstore. Twenty minutes later, they give you the little white

bag, you say “thank you” and you’re on your way. Done. You wouldn’t know

Triswallowin from triathlon, nor would you suggest one or the other.

But, wait. Now the ad gets really bizarre. Apparently, the FDA makes them

mention every possible side-effect -- in a lot more detail than any of us

need to know. So what you end up with is:

”... because only the best is good enough. (Pause) Women who are

pregnant, people who have lungs, and men over 38 should not use

Triswallowin. In some patients, Triswallowin can cause dizziness, nausea,

massive discoloration of the face and hands, hair loss, and excessive

flatulence.”

Well, OK! What’s not to like? I am on the horn to my doctor’s office and

I mean now.

Actually, I think colds and flu are God’s way of reminding us that we’re

not quite the all-knowing, high-tech hotshots we think we are. When that

sneezy, aching, coughing, burning-up feeling gets us, we do exactly what

the hairy people in the loincloths did a thousand centuries ago. Get back

to the cave, lie down and wait it out.

We are a lot smarter, though, about how these things get passed around.

Being near someone sneezing used to scare us silly. For years and years,

we thought noses were the bad guys. But now it turns out the real

villains are hands.

Airborne germs are wimpy. The curtain comes down on them within minutes.

But germs deposited on a doorknob or a phone or a fax machine button can

live for hours, waiting quietly for their next victim to come along.

Life is so cruel. You send a fax or pick up a phone, and the next time

you touch your lips or scratch your nose, you’re done. You’re on your way

to a week or more of whimpering and moaning and doing all those

unpleasant things you hear about in pharmaceutical disclaimers.

But, we’ll all get through it, as always. Do what you can. Ride it out.

Forget the surgical mask, stock up on the antiseptic hand cleaner. And

don’t forget Triswallowin.

Bless you. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays.

E-mail him at o7 [email protected] f7 .