On Being Ill

So. I am down with tonsillitis and have been for 2 days now. It's not a bit fun. For one thing this is supposed to be "midterm prep" week, which was technically supposed to be last week, so my unsuspecting students have now been pushed back 2 weeks and will have some unpleasant cramming towards the end of the semester. For another I have been in bed for 2 days straight, plus every break I had on Monday. Qué fomé. I have only 4 short stories left in English before I start having to read in French, and only 2 short French books left before I have to go to Spanish, in which I have only Bunnicula (yes, Bunnicula). And let me tell you I am having trouble with Bunnicula, deep literature that it is. It also troubles me that it has been translated as Bónicula, since "bunny" is not a Spanish word and so the whole point seems to be lost. I suppose the high-quality translators are not dispatched for children's books about monster rabbits. However, I digress, which as Bónicula has taught me can also be said as....me voy por las ramas.

The most interesting aspect of this bout of sickness has been the clashing of cultural medical views within the casa. In my opinion, I most likely got ill because I stayed out all night on Saturday drinking far too much and hanging out with half a million people. Low immune system + high exposure to germs = why did I do that, cough cough. However, from the perspective of my family, I am way off the mark. First of all, I do not wear adequate footwear while in the house. Socks alone do not cut it. If they are socks, they better be layered and fluffy. If not, slippers at all times. Because the second your foot touches cold floor, you are done for. Along those same lines, not wearing my sub-zero northface jacket that I brought from home on days when the temperature is below 60F is just asking for it. Finally, the wild oscillations in temperature from somewhat-chilly to not-so-chilly are enough to make any rookie sick. As I have been warned about all of these things for weeks on end, I should not be surprised that my careless behavior has landed me in bed.

We also disagree somewhat on treatment. I remember a couple of months ago some other norteamericanos were going on about how other cultures are so much more holistic, naturalistic, yada yada. I disagreed. Now we may be pill happy at home but I see no evidence of healing-women running around in Chile. At the moment, for instance, I am hanging out in bed, drinking lots of water and tea, and waiting for the virus to get lost. This sort of thing is generally not more than 4 or 5 days; I'm 3 days in. I'll survive. However, 2 days ago when I told my housemates about it, I was told to go down the street to get an injection right away. When I demured, I was offered some random antibiotics. I've been fighting off both options ever since and am somewhat concerned that the next time I fall asleep I might be dragged physically to a doctor. In Chile, from experience and from hearsay, they tend to go to the doctor for everything. So the fact that I have let this drag on for several days is something akin to insanity to them. The other interesting thing is that I am not allowed to take showers. Well that's a bit harsh. I am allowed to take showers at the peak of midday as long as I then get right back into eight layers of clothing. Otherwise there is a huge fuss because I am changing my temperature, which as you recall is what does you in.

The family has, however, been extremely sweet to me, and after accepting that I intend to be stubborn about the injection/antibiotics issue, the mother has started mixing me a very helpful lemon juice and honey drink. It is interesting though. Medical believes are one of those things that are simply immovable, because every culture thinks that they are referring to high scientific fact. The idea that no one is entirely sure about these things, particularly not English majors or retired elementary school teachers (in my present case) doesn't matter. We will not budge. It was the same in France--every morning, whatever the weather, I would be forced to crush my then short-and-styled hair into a hat. To do otherwise was near suicide. So in France, it's hats. Chile, socks. The US? We have our own myths and superstitions. But I can't tell you what they are because I believe them wholeheartedly. I would guess that one would be orange juice, because since taking sick I have been in a near panic over the fact that juice as I know it does not exist in Chilean supermarkets. Who knows what other bizarre ideas I have, though.

I could ask if it weren't for the unfortunate fact that having a head-and-throat illness has made me incapable of communicating in Spanish.

Back to bed, then!