So I finally made it to the med clinic yesterday. And I’m pretty sure they hosed the place down with bleach after I left. I don’t really have a cough that anyone would describe as delicate.
They took my blood pressure and temperature and listened to me breathe in and out and ultimately determined that I have a bad case of bronchitis. Bronchitis with a touch of fluid that could turn to pneumonia. And then maybe yellow fever.
Not really on the yellow fever part. I don’t even know if you get a cough with that.
I was sent home with about six prescriptions (It made me long for the days that I worked in pharmaceutical sales and got all my medications for free.) and instructions to get a lot of rest over the next couple of days.
Oh that Hazel. She’s a tough old bird.
I couldn’t really get into it last night because my flight got in late and I was on the verge of tears by the time I got home, but the trip to Chicago was great. I mean, other than the moments I felt like a lung may come out. I was able to meet my editor along with so many great people that work for Tyndale and had the chance to let them know I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I think we all felt good about it.
By the time I got to the Chicago airport I had almost no voice left. I bought some hot tea at Starbucks hoping that would help and went to sit at my departure gate even though my flight wasn’t leaving for a few hours. Sophie called to check on me and we tried to have a conversation but it became impossible thanks to my lack of voice and an overzealous gate worker who was very fanatical about the entire O’Hare airport knowing it was “ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK”.
“ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK.”
He announced it at fifteen second intervals for at least thirty minutes. It was as if he had found his one chance to be in the spotlight with a microphone in his hand and he was going to take full advantage.
“ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK.”
Yes. We get it.
“ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK.”
I believe you’ve mentioned that.
“ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK.”
For the love of all that is sacred.
“ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK.”
If they haven’t gotten the message by now then they don’t deserve to go to Newark. They shouldn’t ever leave their house again.
I felt ceratin Hazel was about to bust out with a long lecture on how people should know when to board their plane and if they can’t be responsible enough to get there on time then they don’t deserve to fly and that the trouble with people today is all this hand-holding. You know when nobody was there to hold your hand? THE GREAT DEPRESSION. People need to take responsibility for their actions or lack thereof.
But just then a couple strolled up next to me and sat down leisurely. And I heard the man say to the woman, “Yes, this is our gate. It doesn’t look like they’re boarding yet.”
And I couldn’t help myself. I asked, “Are you going to Newark?”
“Yes.”
“Well then you should know it’s ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK.”
Then, as if to emphasize my point, overzealous gate guy bellowed, “ALL ABOARD TO NEWARK”.
How this couple had been unaware of that fact in spite of being in a fifty mile radius of the Newark gate will remain as one of the great mysteries of my life.
Anyway, I eventually boarded my flight to Houston and by the time I arrived at the Houston airport I was really hungry. I hear that’s a symptom of the yellow fever. Since I’d been out of Texas for twenty-four hours I was naturally craving Mexican food and so I was delighted when I saw a sign that read “Todo Salsa”. Perfect. I know enough Spanish to know that meant “ALL THE SALSA” which was exactly what I wanted.
Unfortunately, and I blame this on the cold medicine, it took me a few minutes to realize what I was actually seeing was a sign that read “Todo Salas”. Which means “ALL GATES” in Spanish and has nothing to do with Mexican food or salsa. Unless maybe you’re flying to Mexico.
Clearly it was time to get Hazel home.
By the time my final flight arrived in San Antonio I’m not sure who was more relieved we were on the ground, me or the poor man that had to sit next to me. All I know is it took everything in me to not yell “QUIT LOOKING AROUND AND GET OFF THE PLANE. MOVE IT, PEOPLE. MOVE IT.” In hindsight they may have moved faster if I’d announced I had the yellow fever.
But I’m home now and have inhalers and steroids and antibiotics and, love of my life, prescription cough medicine that will help me sleep.
And that’s what I plan to do until further notice.