From the Hero's Sickbed, no.2

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I am very grateful to all my friends who offered good wishes, prayers, Sarah McLachlan songs and chicken soup. When you live on your own, and are struck by an illness which has among other things a depressing effect, every bit of solidarity makes a difference. Thank you.

As it turned out, everybody was incubating the virus. My sister, my brother-in-law and my mother all went down with it at roughly the same time as I did. I suspect we got it from my nephew, who had something that his doctor had diagnosed as conjunctivitis.

Yesterday was an epic day. When you read the following, you must remember that it was all done by a fat and unfit 42-year-old with a raging fever. First, my landlord rang me about the rent, which was due the day before. I told him how it was with me and that I was going to write a cheque. My landlord, contrary to the norm, is a lovely guy, and I make an effort to be on time if I can. I expected a payment on the day, which would make everything all right, but I was going to check on the nearest cash machine, just to be sure. So I go there - it is within easy walking distance of a well person - and it is broken. At that point I make up my mind that I might as well do it all. I purchase a day bus pass, go to my bank branch, and ask to draw cash. It turns out that the payment expected would not clear on Friday but on Saturday, so I have to write a cheque anyway (and thank God I did, because if I had given the landlord a cheque dated on Friday and he had cashed it on the day, it would have bounced). Then I went to my doctor and booked an appointment. Then I walked to the shop where my landlord's daughter was working and gave her the cheque, with an explanation. Then I had to rewrite the cheque, because I had got the name wrong! I went back to the doctor, where I had the chance to rest a while. The doctor had a good look at me and prescribed a course of antibiotics. I went to the neighbouring chemists and got the prescription made up - a process that involved a lot of standing around waiting. Finally, I did the really crazy thing - which I yet think was necessary. The tap water in Ilford is literally undrinkable, the worst I have ever tasted. I was conscious that I needed to drink more than I was, but I could not bring myself to use the stuff that came out of the taps. So, already exhausted and feverish, I went back on the buses again, went to the local supermarket, Sainsbury's, and bought five two-litre bottles of drinking water. That's right, ten-plus kilos of water, to be carried home, nearly helpless as I was. The journey back was unpleasant, but enlivened by noticing how many of my fellow travellers had coughs that sounded just like mine or were carrying freshly made up packages from chemists. Quite a lot, I can tell you.

I do not remember much of what I did afterwards in the evening, except for taking the first instalment of my antibiotics course. Anyway, some time during the night the fever broke. I feel much better today, but I still cough a lot, and I am as weak as a wet kitten. And the flat is a shambles. I can see that I will spend a lot of my convalescence cleaning things up.

My grandmother is not any better, but not any worse, either.

Again, thanks to everyone who sent their good wishes. You made everything just a bit easier.

Comments

[privatemaladict.livejournal.com]

Hey, glad you're feeling better. :) My mum's all-purpose cure for coughs, colds and other such nasties is hot tea with honey and lemon, so try that if you have it. :)

In Australia, chemists are very nice and have chairs for you to sit on while you wait. Very useful, since a lot of the time, when you're waiting you're not feeling too well.

[fpb.livejournal.com]

In Australia, chemists are very nice and have chairs for you to sit on while you wait. Very useful, since a lot of the time, when you're waiting you're not feeling too well.

Ah, yes. Commonsense and Britain. Don't mix too well, do they? Take the ridiculous design of houses and streets, that makes you think that the whole country was imagined by someone who lived somewhere near Morocco... you know, "it never rains here"... But I suppose the obstinate British defence of indefensible ways is part of their charm. Sort of.

[privatemaladict.livejournal.com]

That obstinance carried into the early days of the colony here. I remember reading all these stories at school, about women wearing heavy, button-up-to-the-neck woolen dresses, with a gazillion petticoats, corsets, woolen stockings and whatnot - this in the heat of an Australian summer. Thank goodness I was born in 1983!

[privatemaladict.livejournal.com]

Just remembered a song:
"Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way..."