Being Sick Sucks: A comparative international study of falling ill

Well, I'm sick again. Sick to the point that I asked to go home an hour early from my internship on Monday and got sent home from host-work on Tuesday. After a gallon of orange juice, countless cups of tea, a marathon sleep - twelve hours on Monday night, a long nap on Tuesday, and eleven hours of sleep Tuesday night, I finally woke up feeling loads better today. Thank God. This recent bout of illness, however, made me start thinking about all the times I've gotten sick over the last year. Which was a lot of times.

Being sick at home (for as long as I can remember and yes, all the way through high school), meant being taken care of by my parents. Cue Mom for any food, drink, or bucket that could possibly be needed, Dad for any errand to get that food or drink. I would camp out on the couch and watch Ferris Beuller's Day Off, because it felt so appropriate. Not because I was playing hooky, just because it was a day not spent at school.

Being sick overseas is different and difficult for entirely different reasons. In Australia, I spent the first month or so sick as anything. I was not only the new kid in class, but the one with the gross cooties who couldn’t stop sneezing and hacking all over everything. Ew. I didn’t want to bother seeing the doctor, partly because of the hassle of insurance and partly because I’m too stubborn to think I actually need the doctor, so I settled for lots of sleep and lots of oranges. (Oranges were ALWAYS available at dinner, and I was eating six or so oranges a day I would guess.) The few times I did take medicine, I was strongly disappointed. Ever heard of Parametacol? Me neither. It’s the Australian/British version of Ibuprofen/Tylenol and it’s about a tenth of the strength. Boo.

France presented a completely different set of issues. I SO should have brushed up on my medical vocabulary before I went. The first time I started to feel poorly, I actually went straight to the drugstore and only then realized that I had no idea what I was looking for, let alone how to ask for it. It was within the first month of being there, so I mimed my ailment and named the body part. It worked well enough but I had the same problem as in Australia, that nothing is quite as strong as it is in the States. Also, most of Europe prefers to take their medicine like Alka-Seltzer, which is just gross, especially when it’s not that effective! I continued to sleep and ingest near-lethal doses of Vitamin C as my preferred treatment plan.

On one particular occasion, days before leaving for the UK, I remember all but crawling out of the apartment for a decongestant, orange juice, and some kind of sleeping aid so that I could fall asleep. I did not want to feel that awful while traveling, and I hoped to knock it out before we left. With no makeup and in sweats – so far below the French standard for leaving the house it’s not even funny – I made it to the grocery store for juice and tissues. I wanted to go home before I hit the checkout line, I felt so weak.

But I pushed on and made it to the pharmacy just down the Cours Mirabeau. I looked for the same meds I had used before but eventually just waited to play charades with a pharmacist because I couldn’t make heads or tails of the descriptions on the medication. What felt like hours later, I made my way to the register with my meds and was relieved to be close to the end of my ordeal. Then two old French women promptly cut me in line. Side note: Europeans don’t seem to give a flying fuck about lines and any/everyone will cut in front of you, then get mad if you get mad. I sat fuming behind the women while they took an inordinate amount of time at the counter, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Worst sick experience EVER.

Unfortunately for me, this bout of illness did not end before our trip to the UK and we found ourselves in many a drugstore all over England, Scotland, and Ireland. This was nice because the medication labels were in English, but awful because the drugs were just as weak as everywhere else and the pound conversion is even less friendly to the dollar than the Euro. And you know the labels all over cold meds that say don’t drink alcohol? … Whoops. But we had a blast, even if I did murder half a rainforest with all the tissues I used those twelve days. The only painful parts were the trips to the drugstores.

Here in New York I've made three trips to the pharmacy, and one trip to the grocery store. I used Neo Synephrine for the maximum three days that I was allowed, and I've gone through the original box of tissues I bought as well as the carton of orange juice. Now, I'm working regular doses of Day/Nyquil (absolute Godsend!), hot tea, my Albuterol inhaler, and lots of fruit. I'm also trying saline solution for the first time ever, and now that I have the process down, it's actually really helpful. Piece of advice: don't lose focus for even one second, because if that shit gets into your mouth, well, just keep your concentration and don't let it get into your mouth. Blech.

Let’s suffice it to say that if I must be sick, I choose to be sick in Cincinnati. Where my parents will bend over backward to take care of me, even though I’ve graduated college and for all intents and legal purposes am an adult. There’s nothing better than Mom and Dad when you’re sick.

All that being said, I’m feeling much better now that I’ve actually been taking proper care of myself these last few days. Just in time for my family’s visit! And I will probably run myself right back into the ground while they’re here. That would even be okay, because I’m so incredibly excited to see them and we’re going to have a marvelous time being tourists in this wonderful city. Welcome to New York, family! I’ll be back with a full report after the weekend.

Here and there,
Kiley