Cabin Fever

Rob Martin was formerly a wildlife biologist and anatomy professor at Dyersburg State

Now that the recent stretch of cold weather is over it’s time to come clean about the effects of cabin fever at your house. When the roads were so bad and the wind was so cold you had to just stay home. And not just stay home but stay inside. When all the cats and dogs had to be kept inside 24/7. So cold that “brisk” walks with the dog took on a new meaning and frozen air took your breath away. Schools were out and many businesses were closed, so maybe the whole family stayed home and watched television in their jammies. Which was cozy for a day or two. But then the frozen days added up. And people got bored and restless and can you say irritable and even claustrophobic.

Enter Rob. Who became that guy who - against the weatherman’s advice – who so badly needed just to get out of the house. So badly in fact that he was seen driving slowly in his truck on roads that were not safe. Slowly and very carefully mind you. You saw a vehicle drive by on an icy roadway and you thought, “that guy is crazy”. And you were correct. He had “THE fever”.

If during a shut-in period someone in your house says they have “THE fever” be forewarned. It is not to be confused with fever from something like influenza or COVID, in which case they would likely say “I’ve got fever”. But under stuck-in-the-house-too-long conditions, the proper usage would be “THE fever”. If so, watch out for these symptoms of “THE fever”: grumpiness, irritability, general insanity, clutching at the collar, quick tempers, or saying things like “I’ve got to get out of here quick”. If you see my truck driving by slowly on the third day of iced over conditions, you just have to understand because I am running “THE fever”.

The term “cabin fever” was apparently coined by author Bertha Muzzy Sinclair (pen name B.M. Bower) who wrote a western novel in 1918 appropriately called “Cabin Fever”. The novel told a story about a man named Bud Moore who is feeling suffocated by being a husband and father (the struggle can be real y’all) who gets stranded in the mountains of Montana during a blizzard. The book begins by describing Cabin Fever as “a certain malady of the mind induced by too much of one thing. Just as the body fed too long upon meat becomes a prey to that horrid disease called scurvy, so the mind fed too long upon monotony succumbs to the insidious mental ailment which the West calls Cabin Fever.” (Which sounds a lot like what happened last week at my house.)

The 1918 book continues its description of “THE fever”: “It parades under different names, according to circumstances and caste. You may be afflicted in a palace and call it ennui, and it may drive you to commit peccadilloes and indiscretions of various sorts. You may be attacked in a middle-class apartment house, and call it various names, and it may drive you to cafe life and affinities and alimony”. I rest my case.

The Cincinnati Enquirer defined cabin fever as “that irritation and temper, that quarrel-breeding state of mind that comes to those whose lives are too confined and monotonous without action or variety”. So THAT’S what you call that irritable feeling you might have felt last week. That meaningless argument that started with the simple question “why do we have all these cats in this house and why they can’t go outside??” Or the person who got quite tense because the sound of all those dripping faucets kept them awake! Don’t let it lead to alimony!

It may have been your mind succumbing to that insidious mental ailment, or the temptation to succumb to the “café life”. That “if-I-don’t-get-out-of-here-soon-I-may-scream” feeling. Or maybe you did. Scream that is. Or maybe you committed a peccadillo. Or rode around on icy roads in hazardous conditions just to get a change of scenery. And if you slid off in a ditch, it would still qualify as a change of scenery.

As I reread this article prior to sending it to my publisher, I fear that due to the long stretch of frigid weather, just as a body fed too long upon meat becomes a prey to scurvy, my mind may have already fed too long upon monotony and succumbed to this insidious mental ailment. Heaven forbid. Be kind to the dazed looking fellows driving around in the snowstorm or maybe even committing peccadilloes.

Come on spring!