Nasal Drip

It was bound to happen sooner or later. All that contortion of the nasal passages into the kinds of unnatural positions required to approximate the correct French pronunciation of even the simplest of words takes its toll. Mucous membranes that last saw the light of day when one was a fetus are suddenly exposed to the ravages of any passing spirochete. I blame it on that, and on the highly inconsiderate German woman who insisted on attending class all last week, hacking and sneezing away all the while, to maximize the likelihood that the rest of her classmates would ultimately share her misery. She is presumably now safely back in Germany; her germs, on the other hand, have taken up residence in my bronchial passages.

I stayed home from class yesterday, not wishing to expose my classmates to the same fate. But I spent a very miserable night last night, so I dragged myself into school this morning, to see if they could recommend a doctor. Barely an hour later I had been seen by a very nice doctor at the walk-in clinic down the street, and emerged with a fistful of prescriptions. So I have started on a regimen of antibiotics, decongestants, and paracetamol and am already feeling much better.

The doctor's visit cost only 23 Euros and the wait was only 15 minutes, so I was pretty happy that I dragged myself out to see the doctor, instead of hacking away at home feeling sorry for myself. Hopefully, I will be in form to go back to class tomorrow.

Brad did his best to make me feel better, though I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't quite share his faith in the restorative powers of Kentucky Fried Chicken! Bushmills, on the other hand, that's another story: