No, not the movie. Although the movie was gooood. And I usually don’t like Michael Moore…
In short, Bryan has been sick since we landed here. We kept attempting to power through, since we knew these 4 days before his job started were precious. But his flu-like symptoms were too much. In the 4 days we have been here, we have left our flat maybe a total of three hours. I have been to the drugstore 3-4 times, but not into any fun stores. I know, woe is me. He had a temperature that was fluctuating all over the place, and it didn’t help that I was alternating between Fahrenheit and Celcius thermometers (FYI: 39 degree C is a v. high temp). Last night we hit a wall- I was tired of eating peanut butter on bread for every meal, and tired of being a nurse, and lonely, and Bryan started speaking in tongues. I knew it was bad when he came out of the bedroom at midnight and said, “Get my mom on Skype. I want to talk to her before I die.”
That’s when we realized his fever was 103 degrees. Now here is the miraculous part: doctors in the UK make house calls. HOUSE CALLS! Am I in a movie? A very nice Dr. came to our flat one hour later with a wheely suitcase filled with drugs. He checked Bryan out, gave him meds (um, I don’t even have to go to a pharmacy??), told us about his diet, drank a glass of water, wrote out a bill, and left. Within 1/2 hour, after much ibuprofen and acetaminophen, the temperature plummeted. And we slept.
But it got me thinking… and I’m not going to go on a rant about socialized medicine (since the service we used was private). But I can’t help but feel like the U.S. culturally has a bad attitude about being sick. How does a person with the flu, who is alone at 1am, get to a doctor, and then to a 24-hour drugstore? And the medicine here was considerably cheaper.
Stay tuned next week when I take on the Second Amendment and how little violent crime there is here because guns are illegal. Just kidding dad, I won’t do that.
Bryan is on the mend. And we can’t wait to see London.