One scent that brings my childhood to mind is that of Vicks VapoRub. When I was of toddler and preschool age, my mother would bring out the Vicks every time my brother or I had a cold. I used to try to hide my symptoms so she wouldn’t treat me with Vicks. My brother had allergies and got bronchitis frequently and he was the more frequent victim.
Mother rubbed Vicks VapoRub on our chests, then covered the mess with a Kleenex (not a facial tissue; we only bought Kleenex brand), and put our pajamas on top. The pajamas, of course, were the two-piece footed Carters pajamas that snapped down the back and around the belly. Once in them, it was hard to get out. I couldn’t get rid of that Vicks or Kleenex on my own.
We also had a vaporizer that Mother ran at night when one of us was coughing. My brother and I slept in the same room, so every time he was sick, I had to listen to that vaporizer all night. It didn’t run smoothly and the sound wasn’t constant. Instead, it sputtered and spat its moist air into the room at unpredictable intervals. I’ve always needed quiet when I sleep, and I hated that vaporizer.
But not as much as I hated the Vicks VapoRub. That stuff stank. I cried as Mother plastered my chest. I squirmed as she added the scratchy Kleenex on top, and continued to fuss as she snapped up the pajamas.
And yet, when my children were small, I bought a jar of Vicks VapoRub to ease their symptoms when they had colds and bronchitis and other respiratory ailments. And a vaporizer. I didn’t use these treatments nearly as much as Mother did. Maybe my kids weren’t sick as often. Maybe I relied more on Robutussin—orange for stuffy noses and green for coughs. Maybe my kids complained so much I decided it wasn’t worth it.
The vaporizer I bought for my kids is long gone. But the jar of Vicks VapoRub is still around. It might be older than the bottle of Formula 409 that my husband and I have owned since the late 1980s.
Last winter when I had the flu, I found that jar of VapoRub in the closet and in desperation I opened it up. It was still half full. I inhaled. The mentholated scent was strangely comforting.
So I took the plunge and plastered my own chest. I think it helped me sleep as much as the NyQuil I also dosed myself with. And the soothing relief of the Vicks lasted longer than the mug of bourbon-laced tea I drank. (My dad eschewed the Vicks and treated my brother’s cough with bourbon and honey.)
Last week I had another cold, and out came the Vicks again. It still looks the same as when my children were small—no discoloration, no weakening in the smell, no separation of the petroleum jelly into its component parts (whatever they are). This jar is close to (or maybe over) thirty years old, but it still works.
My cold is better now, and I’ve put the Vicks back in the closet. But I’ll likely pull it out again the next time I’m sick. Whatever Vicks VapoRub is made of, it will probably outlast me.
How did your parents doctor you when you were small?
I love Vaporub! (Ours isn’t called Vicks, though). I use it for synusitis and also for rheumatic pains. My husband (usually the one who massages me with it) complains about the smell. I like it, I like feeling it on me. The smell is of eucalypt and camphor, that’s good, perfumed and spicy. And the result is alleviating pain, so… what’s not to like in it?
I love the smell of Vicks too! It smells so good!!