Emerald woke up. Immediately, he wished that he had not. He was not wishing to die, at least not exactly. It was the sore throat and the sore, stiff muscles at first. As soon as he moved, he noticed that his stall blanket was soaked. With sweat. His. Ugh.
Movement triggered a spasm of coughing. Damn. He swore that he was never going back to the PONY POLE again. That vile stallion kept trying to put the moves on him. He had nothing against gay ponies, it was the persistence after he said NO that irritated him. The bozo swore that it was just a little smoker's cough that he had, too. Some smoker! Em hoped that he was roasting to the point of smoke in whatever Hades he believed in.
Just in case the jerk didn't believe in some sort of Hell, Em spent as pleasant a few minutes as his assorted aches and coughing permitted, imagining one for him! His lovely thoughts were cut off by the need to force his breath. His chest and nasal passages felt like they were more or less on fire and it was difficult to force air through.
Doctor Red Mane had always advised sitting up in bed to relive congested lungs. Zecora, the zebra out in the Everfree forest had different view. “Lean down and cough the phlegm right out. You will breathe better without a doubt.”
Comparing the two thoughts, Emerald leaned over the side of the stall's bedding to angle his chest and nose downward. He pushed a few forceful coughs. He was about to give up when his windpipe almost shut off and the next cough blasted an amazing wad of ugly goo out of his lungs. He spat it away in a glob.
Breathing easier, Em blew his nose too. More guck. Big boogers this time. Still, it was worth it to breathe somewhat normally. At least until the next bout of coughing.
He tried to crawl on out of bed. He was so weak and shaking that he almost failed to make it to his hooves. He got to the shower by planting one shaking hoof at a time. One tiny step after the other.
He set the temperature the way that he usually liked it and felt like he was being parboiled. He turned the hot down some and it felt better. It was almost like the cooler water was washing the fever away.
There was another ache that cool water did not help. His stomach. He was hungry. Near starving, in fact. He did remember hearing Zecora advising a friend of his by saying, “This is a saying that is old, Feed a fever, starve a cold.” He had a fever. Time to feed it. And himself.
He was braced enough by the shower to risk just shaking himself dry. It worked, sort of. He did feel better. Still weak, though.
On the stairs down to the kitchen, Emerald found out just how weak he was. Luckily, he fell sideways and had the support of the wall. The rest of the stairs were taken without incident by simply leaning on the wall for support.
Looking back up the stairs, it looked like going back up would be similar to trying to climb the side of Canterlot's mountain. Less than fun. Going to be necessary though. Bathroom and bed stall were both up there.
The shower had helped the congestion some, but Emerald could feel some coughing working its way into control of his lungs again. He made his slow way to the kitchen, Muttering under his breath, “I wonder if they will ever find a cure for Pony Plague?” In the process inventing a new name for and old but nasty cold.
Almost everything in the kitchen made his stomach churn just looking at it.
He heated water for some tea. Coffee was right out, just now. The honey actually smelled pretty good. Since he was the one going to drink it, he just dumped a glob into the tea water to sweeten it.
That cough was still lurking down in his lungs. He could feel it down there. Well, it was letting him alone just now. Looking at all the cans, bottles and packages seemed a waste of time.
Eggs! Those sounded good! He popped a pair of them into some water to soft boil. Toast was a likely thing, so he shoved a few slices of bread into the toaster. That cough was tickling the back of his throat but not quite blasting loose yet.
Emerald turned to the middle of the kitchen, away from the food, and tried to force the cough to come. He got a few small puffy coughs. Satisfied, Emerald turned back to fixing something that might stay down.
The tea was ready. It was a pleasant surprise. He felt the honey coating and soothing his throat. it not only tasted good, it helped.
Feeling far better, Emerald fished out a mixing bowl. He got down the flour. The idea of pancakes and honey was just too overpowering to resist. Emerald was leaning close, pouring the flour from the bag, trying to gage the right amount of flour without bothering to measure. He almost had the pile in the bowl perfect when it happened.
It was the Krakatoa of all sneezes with a big cough thrown in for good measure. As flour erupted out of the bowl and spread about the counter, Emerald was doubled over by the coughing. Now it was as much the flour dust as it was the cold causing the cough and wheezing. There was no justice in the world, just then. Only Pony Plague.
Regaining secure footing after the coughing passed, Emerald saw that the disaster was not as bad as it seemed at first. There was flour all over his canisters and counter top. Even some on the floor. The bowl had miraculously stayed upright and most of the needed flour was still in it. The bag had gone over on its side but had not spilled any. A few spoons more and the bowl was properly loaded.
He cautiously put the bag away before any other disaster could happen. He tossed some brown sugar into the bowl and added some baking powder. The upcoming sneezes and coughs were betrayed by his sore and tickling throat.
This time he turned away from the counter and though the blast of the sneeze should have been loud enough to wake the dead, it was only Emerald who was further awakened by it. He was shivering from the fever.
He considered the situation and left the dry ingredients ready to go, an egg beside the bowl and dragged himself upstairs. He was right. It was like trying to climb Mount Canterlot. Still, he made it to the bathroom and hit the shower again. The cool water really helped. So did the water vapor from the shower.
Feeling far better, Emerald made his way back to late breakfast or, anyway, lunch. Trying to sleep away the Pony Plague had caused him to miss breakfast.
The scent of scortching caused him to hurry. He was in time to save his boiling eggs. Barely. Hard boiled but still edible. He blanched them in cold water and peeled them. Thinking it through, Emerald smashed the eggs into a paste and spread them on the toast. Not bad, a bit dry, yet good. A few sips of tea helped. The honey in it removing the edge of the scratchiness in his throat and softening the remaining toast in his mouth. Much easier to swallow. That was a useful trick to know.
That extra cooling shower helped a lot. He felt like the fever was far better under control. He cracked the egg into the pancake bowl and gave it a stir. Not trusting his precious breakfast to a trek across the kitchen for water, Emerald put some in a cheap glass and carried it to the pancake bowl.
That worked. He was coughing a a little but the situation seemed under control. The batter stirred up to slightly lumpy perfection.
The pan clattering more than usual, from his shivering, as he put it on the burner, Emerald fired the stove. It was not long before a drop of water skated across the pan, indicating the best heat for pancakes.
Another cough came close to bringing disaster as Emerald was ladling the batter into the pan for the first of the planned stack. The batter landed inside the pan, just misshapen instead of neatly round.
While it was cooking, he got out a plate and set it handy. The bubbles rising in the batter began to pop, leaving holes instead of just filling back in. Beautiful. Emerald's spatula slipped under the cake and flipped it. It was nicely golden on top.
In only moments, the next pancake was in the pan. The one on the plate “grew” a nice glob of honey. Combined with his assorted aches and the hollow place where his stomach was, it was too much. By the time that the next pancake was ready, there was nothing left to stack it onto.
The second and the third cake shared the fate of the first. By the time that dirty dishes were ready for the sink, Emerald was feeling way better.
Taking a cue from the cool shower, he sat out in the shade of his front porch, only shivering a little from the fever.
He remembered the Zebra Zecora had said that cooing a fever like this was good. Doctor Red Mane had tried in vain to stop ponies with colds and such minor ailments from going to her. They got well quicker than his patients under piles of blankets.
Later on, he published a paper about his “breakthrough” on the treatment of minor fevers by cooling the patient instead of bundling him under blankets. No mention of Zecora.
Emearald was feeling far better. He resolved that when he was well, he was going to pay her a visit and give her a little something for the help that she did not even know that she had given.
– The End –
Author's Note
In part this story is based on "Old Wives' Tales" long dismissed as superstition. The ones mentioned and many others have now been validated by modern medicine. With little to no credit given to the Old Wives and their tales.
