On Illness, a Recital, and the Wonders of Tylenol

This past Sunday was my studio recital. An event involving 22 of my students performing their [hopefully] well-practiced pieces in recital, accompanied by my clever husband Nathan, to a room full of proud parents and grandparents and friends. And then followed up by four ensemble pieces played by groups of students, two of them played by absolutely everyone, from the littlest Twinklers to the high school students.

So of course, Saturday night I came down with a raging fever and sore throat. Nathan was so great; he offered to make me any thing I wanted, and I requested honey and lemon juice in hot water, just like my Dad used to make it. Of course, I had to describe [painfully, because my throat hurt] each step of the process, like where to find the mugs, and how to squeeze juice out of a lemon, and where the honey was, and what the honey-to-lemon ratio should be. But nonetheless, he did it. And the end result rivaled my Dad's honey and lemon.

All Saturday night I tossed and turned and couldn't sleep. I'd doze for a few minutes, dream about accomplishing my lengthy to-do-list before the recital [print programs, organize all books of accompaniment parts, gather paper plates and cups for reception, etc.] and then wake to realize that I hadn't done any of it yet, and that I felt sicker than I had ten minutes ago.

I felt so sick that I moaned and whimpered throughout the night, I am told. Well, okay, I'm not proud of it, but there you have it. But when I curled up towards Nathan, he held my hands in his. Strange how that can make everything seem better.

By Sunday morning I was sicker than I remember being in years. Standing up made me dizzy. I was alternately sweating and shivering. My throat burned. Every muscle ached, and every inch of my skin hurt.

Nathan had gone to church, but when I texted my friend Melissa and asked her to pray for a miraculous recovery so I could make it through the studio recital, she promptly drove to my house bearing juice, cough drops, and Tylenol.

OH TYLENOL. Being a non-drug-taking quasi-hippie, I did not fully understand what Tylenol can do for a miserable person. Two extra-strength Tylenol plus four Ibuprofen (hush with your cautionary judgment now; I was desperate!) brought me back to the land of the living. I could stand up. I could see clearly.

I took a shower. I drove to the recital location.

Then Melissa and my brother-in-law Andrew helped get everything set up.

And Melissa helped me tune all those little violins.

And the recital happened.

There were lots of people there.


And I was proud of my students.


And I was thankful for a good husband and good friends who can help a girl out when she's down for the count.

{Oh hey, here's a picture from last year's recital! My how the little ones do grow.}


When I think back on the weekend, I'm glad my students played well. I'm inspired by the positive feedback from students, their parents, their grandparents, and their friends. And I'm grateful for the beautiful flowers a parent gave me.


But it's strange, the strongest memory I have is of being just so very miserable, and having Nathan take my hands in his own as I was trying to get some sleep Saturday night. And then feeling that everything would be all right.

And it was.