Everyone remembers the first time they got sick  in college.

It started when you felt like you had a fever. You wanted to check your temperature, but you realized you don't own a thermometer ("Only moms have those … I now understand why you can't spell 'thermometer' without 'mom.'").

Unable to measure your temperature scientifically, you hopelessly ask your roommate to feel your forehead and give some medical advice. Because you'll always get great medical advice from your pre-business roommate.

You start to feel a sore throat, along with other suspicious symptoms, so you revert to WebMD. According to your research, your symptoms match to a rare cancer that 1 in 700 people have.

Panic sets in and you call your mom ("Mom? I'm dying.").

Your mom recommends the campus health center, and you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

You wait for five hours at campus health ("… I think they forgot about me …").

Finally, you see a doctor and they persuade you that you're okay; "It will pass." Yet they always give you codeine, which you usually sell.

You decide to go to the campus drug store, and feel almost ecstatic when you see medications that cure your symptoms ("I AM GOING TO LIVE!").

However, when you go to pay for the medication, the total is $120 for cough drops, nasal strips, NyQuil and Kleenex ("Can I Bursar this?").

You go back to your dorm to find your roommate Clorox wiping the whole dorm room ("You're acting like I have the plague.").

You call your mom again ("When will this torture end?").

Miraculously, you wake up the next morning and start to feel better ("I'M GOING TO MAKE IT!").

To celebrate, you go out and party that night ("I'M BACK").

Then you wake up with a hangover, but smile that it isn't the sickness ("BYE COLD"). 

But through it all, mom was there. 

(Much love, mom)