I was coughing. I’d begun a fever and was producing green sputum. The air had been bad in Delhi. I’d picked up a dry cough there from the smoke but it only became productive my last day in Kochi. I began the Zithromax I had for diarrhea. In Mumbai at the chemist I picked up doxycycline but it too had no affect on the fever. I read that there’s a 70% resistance for animal and human infections in India due to the over use of antibiotics. I had Clindamycin left over from the dentist and though I was still coughing sputum on the plane home the fever broke, the profusive sweating stopped, my sinus cleared and the sputum turned white in 24 hours.
No one complained about the 50 or so babies on the flight from Heathrow to Vancouver, 10 hours of misery, because the fat old white guy’s cough was disturbing everyone’s sleep.
At one point I couldn’t breathe with my nose, was claustrophobic and couldn’t seem to get a breath, added to my claustrophobic panic that sometimes adds to my flying experience. I had an aisle seat so could stand up and did. The feeling passed. My racing heart slowed. I was able to breathe slowly.
Back in my bed I loved home. Safe. I slept. Waking to breathe but loving my own bed. In the morning Laura left and I tried to return to work. No such luck. A couple of hours and I was drained and the coughing which had been better returned from deep in my chest.
It was idyllic to be re united with Gilbert. I love that little bundle of joy. He barked and did his turns then stayed close and at home cuddled. I slept for hours and days cancelling another day of clinic. I walked Gilbert slowly. Everything was slow. Time even slowed. My mind was mush. Jet lag. I just moved through the motions. Like getting back in sync with an out of sync world. I liked the familiarity., It was almost like India was a dream. I saw some patients and was pleased I was of use, signing prescriptions, filling out forms, reassuring. I was delighted my patient still lived who I’d feared would die. I spoke with some who seemed to be uplifted with the contact. I liked that. I made it through most of a day before the coughing and fatigue took their toll. I returned home, walked Gilbert then slept through another evening and night. I was able to sit in the hot tub one evening. I showered and dressed and picked up fish and chips at White Spot. I’d thought of White Spot fish and chips in India. Now I thoroughly enjoyed them.
Friday morning I did my tour of duty seeing lots of people for a routine repetitive general practitioner type purpose. I felt good with the duty. I liked the duty. I like being dutiful. It’s not a popular concept. But I was paying my way. Going to the post office, going to the bank, paying bills. I was astonished at how quickly I was connecting.
Laura fell asleep dressed for a play we’d planned. Christmas Presence. It’s as stooge. I’d thought it was the guitars and stories at Pacific Theatre. Stooge was great but required attention. Ron Reed is a genius. I nodded off fighting coughing and sucking on sedating lozenges. I felt I’d missed a lot but I’d been there. Filled a seat. Suited up. Showed up. Had felt moments of Ron’s brilliance but despite second act coffee was fading in and out. I’m not in this time zone. Glad to have been there. Feeling it was therapeutic. The Christmas doesn’t seem to be in place.I’m in India and still getting over Halloween and Remembrance days. Holidays and themes are racing at me. I’m stumbling forward on a Delhi Road.
Laura was beautiful. Pearl necklace. Sweater. Polka dot dress. We had after theatre dinner at West Restaurant on Granville.. The consommé was a taste sensation. I loved the salmon steak. Even the bread and butter tasted wonderful. I was sorry to let her off at her apartment and drive home alone. I’d been listening to Daya Mata satsanga’s about SRF and Paramahansa Yogananda. The driving time is not wasted. Before sleep, I read another western, the good man theme. Simple.
On Facebook the chaos of politics competes with the spirituality of dogs and cats and humor. I enjoy my friends.I wonder about my snide remarks. I’ve increasing doubts about this clever place of expression where I make comments about Justin Trudeau, elite stoner, playboy, name brand, intellect of a puddle, above the law. He represents everything that offends me. Un Canadian and the lies. But then I think ‘some are sicker than others’. I need to pray for him as we needed to pray for Hitler and Stalin. They’re sick not bad. I admit I think of the evil forces and need to be less binary.
I actually slept more in the day, but cleaned the sticky galley flor, shook out the rug, did filing, walked Gilbert, a couple of times, got banking done, picked up mail, generally took care of business, slowly, steadily, with naps. I roasted Ethiopian coffee, did all the actions bringing me back into life. Syncing.
Now I’m early for a doctors meeting. I missed my home group this week, collapsing and sleeping through it after a half day of work fatigued me to the point of sickness. Now I’m here early and ready to go now. A walk and a little thought and I’ll settle down to the warm feeling of welcome in this group of doctors I admire and am thankful they include me.
Thank you Jesus.
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