In another one of my Señora's idiosyncrasies, she is absolutely, 100% convinced that I need to go to the hospital due to my low (100 degree) fever and stomach pains. In the United States, this is referred to as the flu. Or even just "flu-like symptoms." In Spain, this is considered death. They love medicine here. Can't get enough of it. Have a sore throat? Here, take a pill. Headache? More pills. Stuffy nose? Oh, here, this will help! I had a bloody nose a few days ago, you know, one of the normal ones everyone gets when the air is dry and cold, and my Señora repeatedly asked if I needed to go to the doctor or the hospital. She was quite insistent, but that might be because I shoved two tissues up my nostrils. Hey, at least I didn't use a tampon like in She's the Man.
They also love fruit, especially oranges, and orange juice. Both medicine, fruit, and juice have been forced down my stomach today, as my Señora sits and watches me until I take/eat/drink them under her watchful eye. The problem? Fruit always makes my stomach hurt more. Also, oranges/orange juice and random medicine that might have aspirin in it=certain acid reflux episode.
I am doing well. I also happen to be a master at sarcasm.
Don't worry though, I already feel better. That part isn't sarcasm. Last night the fever hit me like a ton of bricks, and I was suddenly shaking uncontrollably and ran to my Señora screaming, "TENGO LA GRIPE!" (i have the flu). It probably scared her when I ran away mid conversation to attempt to throw up, and she has not calmed down. By all accounts, I am fine. Just a little virus-her daughter is a doctor and examined me, and said my throat was fine, my stomach was fine, and I have a virus. And then she told me I needed to go to the hospital, but we'll ignore that (I am learning what to listen to and what to ignore, kind of like at home with my own parents...). Also, apparently the way to beat a fever is to sit in a bed completely naked for an entire day. I don't buy it.
I woke up at 9 AM to my Señora staring at me from next to my bed. Now THAT'S a way to wake up. I jolted awake, and she started laughing and simply...walked out of the room. Why was she in the room watching me sleep? I have no idea. I don't think I'm that interesting in my sleep. But, it makes me happy that she is worried and cares about me a lot.
I think she is a little mad at my rejection of the fruit, the medicine, and the juice (I prefer water, or gatorade-which I don't have in the house but kind of want to go get at the grocery store-they have it here!). But I care more about my random acid reflux attacks than her feelings, to be honest (acid reflux hurts and is uncomfortable and terrible). I'm convinced her thermometer is wrong. It says I have a fever of 101.3, but usually when I have fevers of 101.3, I can't move, lift my head, walk around, talk, or stare at a computer. I've done of those things in the last 30 minutes. Also, there is a strange man with suspenders on in the kitchen right now with a plunger over the sink. The microwave is broken too. I am confused.
I haven't updated this in forever, and there's really no excuse-I only had two days of classes last week. BUT, since I last wrote, I've been to Italy and back, and I plan on writing a lengthy post about the trip, because it was amazing. Maybe I'll do that once my head stops spinning, and hopefully before I leave for London on Thursday.
In all honesty, she is a very nice lady and I like her. I am only being all complain-y because I'm sick, and also because I think all of her random (read: strange) habits are funny. This is definitely a cultural experience: being sick without my real mom here is making me see that clearly. I've never had to Wikipedia medicine before to find out exactly what it is (thank you to my good friend Shannon, who is always reliable and looks up complicated things for me-apparently, the medicine did not have aspirin in it! Hooray!), and I've certainly never been told to remove all of my clothes for an entire day due to a fever. I'm not sick enough to not see the humor in all of this, and unlike my Señora, I am fairly confident I am not dying, nor do I need to go to the hospital.
Peace, love, and fevers,
Lauren
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