Well, no sooner had I put my cap back on my pen a couple of Wednesday afternoons ago, feeling very clever, I suddenly found myself in a place called “hmmm, this sucks.”
It basically started like this: Fallas had just ended, and though I’d lived through a couple of questionable days at the beginning of the week, by Wednesday I felt pretty darn good, and concluded that a few bad days in the bathroom was simply a result of something I’d eaten over the previous weekend (on top of the glasses of wine, pints of beers, and chupitos).
As I excused myself for a second time during my class that Wednesday evening, I thought to myself, “Perhaps 4 Guinness and a fry up with double egg and sausage wasn’t such a good idea.”
As I got up for the third time later that night (or should I say early Thursday), I began to think that something was more than just slightly amis. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, how can this moron not tell when he’s ill? Well, let’s consider the facts. I’ve managed to survive the past ten years or so on a diet heavy in pints and bar food; I once ate the German plate seven nights in a row at the Old Monk, changing only the flavor of the accompanying beer for a bit of variety. I’ve always known that I had “rotten insides” (a term that a fellow junkie and I coined to describe our eating habits), but I’ve tended to console myself with the fact that at least I wasn’t a vegetarian, too.
So, Thursday I didn’t feel so hot, and elected to skip the daily trip to the gym. I somehow roused myself to get to class, but felt a bit guilty when I had to excuse myself several times, leaving my students with the instruction to practice speaking aloud the phrase, “Bryan is in the toilet but he’s OK.”
I’ve always loved poop stories, and was finding the whole personal experience pretty humorous, all things considered. Around my fourth or fifth trip downstairs that night, however, it finally occurred to me that I might be on my way to a bad dehydration trip.
I consulted my sister (whose bedroom is right next to the guest bathroom…how could she not know that something was up?) on the matter, which meant that additional folks were consulted: family, friends, neighbors. Normally, I would have preferred to have kept this little adventure a bit more low key, but as the mystery continued, I was starting to get a bit nervous, particularly about the possibility of dehydration. Around 5am on Friday morning, my sister met me at the edge of the hallway as I was returning from yet another trip to the john, and indicated that we’d go see the doctor later that afternoon after she finished work. Meanwhile, I’d plan to take it easy and drink Gatorade for the day.
As my nephew went off to school Friday morning, he remarked that once, he, too, had had bad kaka. I actually appreciated the commiseration.
Lynne and I metroed off to the hospital that afternoon, and a nice lady at the reception desk entered my name in the computer. My parents had come here for treatment once or twice before themselves, so this lady knows the whole Barlow family.
The visit with the doctor went pretty quick. Lynne stepped in to assist with the translations, though whether in Spanish or English, the shits still sounds bad. The medical assistants took a blood sample, then told us to come back in a while for the results and diagnosis. Lynne and I had a coffee (I had water) and sat in a park across the street for a bit.
Finally, around 8 or so, the doctor called me back in to the office with the news: I had gastroenteritis…bad kaka, if you will. I was to take some stuff called Sueroral, which is basically a super powerful Gatorade with a couple of extra bits (to repair my insides)for the next few days. Additionally, I would need to follow a pretty limited diet for the next week. All in all, considering the circumstances, I was in pretty good health.
Greatly relieved, I left the hospital with Lynne, popped (dang, i almost wrote pooped)in the pharmacy to buy the meds, then headed to the metro. Our parents were supposed to call us that evening, and we were a bit concerned that we’d miss their call. As for me, I wasn’t so concerned with missing their call as I was with Fran inadvertently giving them the message that I was in hospital seeing a doctor. I had been hoping to keep the news of this whole bad kaka thing quietly contained in Meliana and half of Alboraya…no need to pass the word on to the states.
Alas, there was a problem on the metro which was causing lengthy delays, so what was meant to be a quick visit to the doctor had now turned into a half day trip. As we waited on the metro platform, I wondered if there’d be a safe haven or two in the vicinity. Eventually, a train came, packed to capacity, but Lynne and I squeezed on and returned to Meliana. (Whew! That was awesome!)
We found out later the cause of the delay: there had been a suicide on our line, basically near our stop. Rather grim news. I thought darkly to myself how unfortunate that someone had a shittier week than me.
Hats off to Sueroral, because Saturday I felt remarkably better, and even better still on Sunday. I was still avoiding milk products (except for coffees) but beyond that, pretty much eating anything I felt like.
Monday, I was back in form, and back in the gym. The escapade was behind me, and I was most thankful; it was going to be a busy week.
Fran was out of town on a business trip, and with the exception of Wednesday, Lynne had choir practice every night in preparation for her choir concert at the weekend. This meant that I would need to hang out around the house at night with Daniel.
Fortunately for me, Arsenal played Juventus on TV that Tuesday evening, so I shredded napkins in the living room throughout the game until the final whistle. Arsenal 2, Juve 0. “My team is on fire, and I don’t have bad kaka!” I said to myself while enjoying a post match drink on the terrace.
Pause here while I talk about the terrace…currently it’s my front stoop, as my room is an add-on to the terrace itself. Basically, I can open up the entire wall of my room and look out over the town, and see the Mediterranean Sea in the distance. Of course, I always have a morning coffee up there, but also tend to spend a lot of time out there at night just reflecting, enjoying a smoke, and marvelling at the moon. In the book Fountainhead, a wealthy character had a penthouse apartment in New York, and on the very top had a room built entirely of glass, allowing for a view of the entire city. Take away NYC, lower the penthouse to about five stories, and remove the millionare, and you now understand how cool my little place is. I’m very fortunate, and extremely grateful that Lynne and Fran are letting me be a guest here. Like my brother in law, I easily consider it my favorite room in a really cool apartment.
As the week continued, I felt better and better, especially after the victory by Arsenal. I felt a bit selfish for being slightly irked when a student had to cancel class; her father in law was the one who was killed by the metro at the end of the previous week. But, the more time I spend in Spain, I realize how small the world can be. The doctor that treated me has a daughter who attends class at Casa Americana where I work, in fact she lives right around the corner from the school. Even in a region of several million people, you can almost always find a connection with someone.
This point held true on Wednesday night, when I took my student to a nearby plaza for class…call it a field trip if you want. Beers were optional, so I elected in favor of the hops. After our class, he invited me to join him as he went to meet some other folks for a few drinks. Thus, I met Mercedes and Laura, two girls who work in an office near city centre. One of them had taught in a high school in the states a few years before, apparently the same high school where Dangerous Minds was filmed.
After the unpleasant time I’d had the previous week, I was glad to have an evening out. The four of us had a few pints in Finnegan’s, and though they made fun of my Spanish a bit, at least they were nice about it.
I picked up a new student at the end of the week – a fifteen year old girl who needed some tutoring. Her house is close to the Calatrava complex, and I got to familiarize myself with another part of the city on the commute, and even got to do one of those mad dashes through the metro station to catch my transfer.
Teaching a teenager was a new experience (er, teaching period is a new experience, eh?) but she and I connected over music (of course). Yet another person who likes SKA, groovy. Like me, her music tastes are diverse, but she lent me a cd of a band called Mago de Oz, which is a bit more metal than I like, but worth the listen. I’ll return the favor this week with a cd or two of my own.
Friday evening I arrived home, said a quick hello to Fran, who had just arrived back from his business trip, then Lynne and I went to her choir practice, the last one before Saturday night’s concert.
Funny, you might picture a choir rehearsal as maybe a two hour deal. In this case, we met a few folks for tapas at 9. By 10, we were at the concert hall. Two hours later, rehearsal ended, and a few of us went off for a post practice refreshment at an horchateria. After a few weeks in Spain, though, I’m used to it. After all, a trip to the doctors can take 5 hours, so why not a choir rehearsal?
Saturday was going to be a long day. The concert was in Alboraya, where Fran’s mom lives. We tend to eat lunch at her house most Saturdays around 2.30. Consider a couple of hours for lunch, and then it’s almost 5, when Lynne needed to be at the music hall for a little warmup. As Lynne changed clothes for the concert, I hoofed it to the car in search of her hair gel, which somehow was missing from her gear and hopefully still in the trunk of the car. I was unsuccessful, but returned to Concha’s to discover that Lynne had found it in her own gear…just a different bag. She and I headed off to the music hall, leaving Fran, Daniel and Concha to join us at 7 for the concert.
This concert was in celebration of the 20th anniversary of Alboraya’s choir…quite the special occasion. Three other choirs performed in addition to Alboraya, each led by a former director of the Alboraya choir. The first was a youth choir, who were fantastic. They sang a Mecano song, and a couple of other numbers in English. The other two choirs were equally talented. The crowd was most appreciative, and applauded with great ovation after every number.
Lynne’s choir was the main event, but weren’t going to sing until the second half of the show. Unfortunately, my nephew wasn’t quite up to it, so was a bit restless from the get go. It didn’t help matters when one of his little buddies arrived- they created quite a distraction together. Neither one calmed down when Lynne’s choir hit the stage. In fact, the choir had just started to sing their second or third song when Daniel began to exclaim, “Mamá, Mamá!” which earned him a trip outside to the foyer with his father. They remained out there for the duration of the concert, leaving Concha and I to represent the family in attendance. Lynne’s group did well, and it’s always a proud moment for me to see her up on stage. Emotional applause exploded after every song, and you couldn’t help but get caught up in the spirit. Quite the nice evening.
There was a reception immediately following the concert in the bar next door, and I had a few beers over in a corner with Andres and Acier, until I decided to venture into the mass of singers to pay a few compliments. I suddenly found myself surrounded by many choir members who were good naturedly pressuring me to join the choir. The director took it upon himself to invite me, as well, and as I looked around for some support of a sister (who had suddenly, mysteriously disappeared) I realized that I was probably going to have to suck it up and start showing up at rehearsals. I’d like to mention that this decision has nothing to do with the cute doctora that several choir members are trying to set me up with. There’s a concert at the Palau de la Música in May, and participating in that would be on the same level as singing in the Meyerson in Dallas. Not a bad gig if you can swing it.
At any rate, after making some feeble statement about coming to the next practice, I eventually escaped the pressure (parting words from the doctora, “see you Tuesday!”) and went with Lynne, Maribel, Andres, Roberto, and Acier to have a late evening snack. I had a chance to watch Real Madrid – Barcelona at the bar, and we finally got home around 2 or so, 12 hours after leaving house earlier in the day.
Sunday was spent catching up on rest, and Monday I hammered this little story out at Finnegan’s. Now, it’s Tuesday morning, and I’m preparing for the arrival of my parents, who get here later this week. I’ve got a feeling that things will stay pretty busy for the next few weeks. No problem by me.
Keep the faith
Bryan
04/04/06
1 comment:
¡Felíz cumpleaños, Bryan!
Post a Comment