Lawmakers look for a bill of health

I trekked to Olympia on Monday and stayed all week. Washington state legislators and staffers are working marathon days to get everything done by this coming Thursday, the scheduled end of the session. The Statehouse reminded me of a college campus at finals time. Lots of pasty skin, bloodshot eyes and sour stomachs.

Getting sick seemed everyone’s fear. And most everyone I spoke with shared the strategies they employ to ward off end-of-session sickness.

Sen. Brad Benson, of Spokane, showed me his strategy. We walked through a door at the back of the Senate floor. It led to a staircase that led to a small cafeteria for the senators. In between votes, Benson climbs up and down the 32 steps there. Some days, he makes the descent and the climb back up dozens of times. Benson also eschews sugar and white flour and chugs bottles of water. So far, it’s worked.

Senate Majority Leader Lisa Brown’s office is located just steps away from the Senate floor. There on the desk of Ruthie Zimmer, Brown’s uber assistant, stood several different brands of hand sanitizers. From her desk, Zimmer pulled out a super-size multivitamin bottle, as well as aspirin, Advil and Excedrin Migraine.

“I tell people to help themselves,” said Zimmer, who also sprays the phone with Lysol.

From Brown’s office, I walked out of the Senate chambers into a long marble corridor where lobbyists hang out, waiting for senators to emerge. I ran into Jeff Gombosky, a former legislator who is now Eastern Washington University’s director of government relations. He told me that earlier in the session, a biotech company lobbyist handed out to everyone hand-sanitizer key chains.

The lobbyist corridor led me to the House side of the Statehouse. From the wings there, I sent a note in to Rep. David Buri, of Colfax. He walked out, and we settled onto a leather couch to talk the state’s serious business. Then we got down to this cold-flu business.

One day, Buri realized that while sitting at his desk on the House floor, he was placing his right hand on his face in such a way that his fingers touched his eyes. The same right hand that shook hands all day long. Finger-to-eye contact is an efficient method of spreading colds. So now Buri rests his head on his left hand.

I made my way to the House office buildings, where legislators recounted session-sickness stories from years past. Rep. Alex Wood, of Spokane, came down with pneumonia four years ago. In between votes on the floor, he bundled up in a blanket on a couch in the speaker’s office.

Last year, Rep. Larry Crouse fought a respiratory flu for six weeks. He’d feel OK during the week in Olympia, then he’d climb in his car for the commute home to the Spokane Valley and relapse by the time he hit Snoqualmie Pass. He now keeps sanitizer in his top desk drawer and uses it often.

“I’ve had 13 people in this room,” Crouse said, looking around his compact office.

Unlike others who swear by their flu shots, Rep. John Ahern, of Spokane, had a flu shot long ago and got sick as a dog. He relies instead on 45 minutes of daily exercise. Rep. Lynn Schindler, of Otis Orchards, depends on a daily dose of olive oil and Noni juice from Costco.

Rep. Timm Ormsby, of Spokane, turns to cigarettes. He said, “My theory is the (tobacco) toxins kill all germs.”

Some informed me of another legislative phenomenon: post-session body meltdown. When the session is over, colds and the flu rush in.

No one seemed to mind that prospect, because if they are sick at home it means the session – like finals week of long ago – is over at last.