Yesterday, I was sick; I had a chill-inducing fever, a lingering cough, an undiagnosed sinus infection, three forms of medication, a doctor-approved – aka, my Georgian doctor/mom – sick day from school, and a headache that made it seem like my head would be better off exploding.
Today, while not sick enough to merit another day off school, I still feel the lingering effects of my cold, or as I nicknamed it, “my 3-packs-a-day habit.” (Don’t worry, mom; I’m talking about Kleenexes, or in Georgia, Selpaki.) Having a clear enough head to think today, I began to think about how it feels to be sick in another country. After considering it for a good five minutes, I’ve decided…I don’t like it. And here’s why.
• There’s no one to bring me soup. I mean, I have soup every day for lunch, but when I’m sick, I just want some chicken noodle – from a can – soup drowning in crackers.
• No one believes I’m sick until I sneeze more than twice in a day, cough for a significant period of time, or have a fever, which means that if I don’t have any of those symptoms, I’m fully expected to complete the regular daily activities of teaching classes, playing with children, dancing at dance lesson, and staying up to watch a two-hour dance show that doesn’t start until 10.
• Sickness doesn’t have the same origins in Georgia as it does in America. In America, if I’m sick, it’s probably because someone else was sick, and they didn’t wash their hands or because the weather is switching rapidly and my body can’t keep up. In Georgia, however, it’s probably because I wore a short-sleeved shirt outside two weeks ago or my feet were cold or my room isn’t warm enough. And this is coming from my host mom, who’s a doctor.
• Selpaki – aka Kleenexes – aren’t soft.
• Medicine isn’t the same. Having a doctor as my Georgian mom has its advantages; I said I was sick, and she grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote a prescription for me. However, upon going to the pharmacy, I realized that I have no idea what I’ve been given. Therefore, I have no idea what I can and cannot take with it.
• In America, when I’m up all night due to incessant coughing, I sleep in the recliner chair to sit upright and still be comfortable or eat ice chips. In Georgia, I fluff my pillows up as much as possible and chew a couple cough drops.
• The remedy for sickness changes with the border. For example, today I was told that I should definitely wear a coat if I want to get better, which may or may not have merit. The problem was that it was approximately 20˚C (70˚F) today on my way to school, so it was all I could do to wear a thin sweater and scarf, let alone a coat. In America, I just need to sleep and drink lots of fluids.
• 98.6 isn’t a consistent body temperature. My host sister insisted on me taking my temperature the last time I was sick. I was sure I didn’t have a fever; it was just a headache, intensified by her screaming as my Georgian dad tickled her. I took my temperature and read it, “37˚C.” After doing a quick conversion on my phone, I assured her it was fine: 98.6. However, she refused to drop it until I let her see the reading, at which point she declared I had a fever. I explained many times that 37˚ is NOT a fever; it’s normal. After failing to convince her, and my doctor/host mom who had walked in, I said, “37˚ is normal in America.” My host mom thought for a moment and responded, “Here…it is not.” Since when did body temperatures vary by country?
Today, while not sick enough to merit another day off school, I still feel the lingering effects of my cold, or as I nicknamed it, “my 3-packs-a-day habit.” (Don’t worry, mom; I’m talking about Kleenexes, or in Georgia, Selpaki.) Having a clear enough head to think today, I began to think about how it feels to be sick in another country. After considering it for a good five minutes, I’ve decided…I don’t like it. And here’s why.
• There’s no one to bring me soup. I mean, I have soup every day for lunch, but when I’m sick, I just want some chicken noodle – from a can – soup drowning in crackers.
• No one believes I’m sick until I sneeze more than twice in a day, cough for a significant period of time, or have a fever, which means that if I don’t have any of those symptoms, I’m fully expected to complete the regular daily activities of teaching classes, playing with children, dancing at dance lesson, and staying up to watch a two-hour dance show that doesn’t start until 10.
• Sickness doesn’t have the same origins in Georgia as it does in America. In America, if I’m sick, it’s probably because someone else was sick, and they didn’t wash their hands or because the weather is switching rapidly and my body can’t keep up. In Georgia, however, it’s probably because I wore a short-sleeved shirt outside two weeks ago or my feet were cold or my room isn’t warm enough. And this is coming from my host mom, who’s a doctor.
• Selpaki – aka Kleenexes – aren’t soft.
• Medicine isn’t the same. Having a doctor as my Georgian mom has its advantages; I said I was sick, and she grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote a prescription for me. However, upon going to the pharmacy, I realized that I have no idea what I’ve been given. Therefore, I have no idea what I can and cannot take with it.
• In America, when I’m up all night due to incessant coughing, I sleep in the recliner chair to sit upright and still be comfortable or eat ice chips. In Georgia, I fluff my pillows up as much as possible and chew a couple cough drops.
• The remedy for sickness changes with the border. For example, today I was told that I should definitely wear a coat if I want to get better, which may or may not have merit. The problem was that it was approximately 20˚C (70˚F) today on my way to school, so it was all I could do to wear a thin sweater and scarf, let alone a coat. In America, I just need to sleep and drink lots of fluids.
• 98.6 isn’t a consistent body temperature. My host sister insisted on me taking my temperature the last time I was sick. I was sure I didn’t have a fever; it was just a headache, intensified by her screaming as my Georgian dad tickled her. I took my temperature and read it, “37˚C.” After doing a quick conversion on my phone, I assured her it was fine: 98.6. However, she refused to drop it until I let her see the reading, at which point she declared I had a fever. I explained many times that 37˚ is NOT a fever; it’s normal. After failing to convince her, and my doctor/host mom who had walked in, I said, “37˚ is normal in America.” My host mom thought for a moment and responded, “Here…it is not.” Since when did body temperatures vary by country?
Hmm... that temperature thing is so interesting. Mine is usually below "normal". When I am sick and feel like I definitely have a fever, my temperature is then the "normal" 98.6. Maybe I belong in Georgia...?
ReplyDeleteHope you're feeling better :)
I'm sure you are... since you wrote this April 8th and not May 8th. hahah
ReplyDelete