Remedies | July 2014
Some of the most challenging moments of life abroad have come in times of sickness. A few months after we adopted Leon, I came down with a touch of something. Being the little pup he was, Leon also came down with something too. I barely had the energy to take care of myself let alone this little pup.
I broke down.
All I could think was if I were back home, I could call my mom to come take care of me. And the dog.
There’s also the medication. Everything is different. There is no Pepto-Bismol or Mucinex D. Of course, there are meds to treat the same symptoms, but they all look different. And when you’re sick, the last thing you want to do is compare ingredient labels.
On Sunday night, I came down with the mother of stomach bugs. You know the kind that keep you on the bathroom floor all night long. And the following morning.
My husband, being the superman he is, took care of me in my glorious state. He promptly scheduled a doctor’s appointment as soon as he could. This was my second trip to the Intercare up the road. On my first visit, I had no idea my height in meters or my weight in kilos. Thankfully, that was already taken care of for this visit, because my stomach was in no mood to fool with all those conversions.
Just when I feel I can’t possibly wait any longer, the doctor (yeah, the actual doctor) comes out to the waiting room and calls my name. We walk to his office where both his desk and exam table are situated. We sit and talk about my medical history with a few insertions of “How do you like South Africa?” and “So have you been keeping up with the rugby?” Meanwhile, I’m scanning the room for a bucket (or suitable substitute) and hoping that he’ll diagnose me quickly.
He directs me to the examination table. Where he listens and probes. He informs me that I have a fever without ever actually using a thermometer. We sit back down at his desk where he begins writing scripts — not one, as I’d expect from an American doctor. Not even two or three. But FOUR scripts.
“I don’t want to see you here tomorrow,” he says.
Or for the next six months, apparently! Sheesh.
He then informs me that my body needs potassium and sugar. “So I want you to drink two liters of Coca-Cola today and add a tablespoon of sugar to it to take the bubbles out,” he says.
What?!
“Um, I’m pretty sure that my kidneys would kill me if I drank that much Coke in one day,” I respond, sort of jokingly but not really.
“No, it’s good for you.”
“Um, okay . . .”
I think I’ll drink some Powerade and eat a banana instead.
Not long ago, we were discussing yucky stomach bugs with some friends (I know, lovely topic right?). She’s American, and he’s South African.
“He brought me burnt toast and flat Coke,” she tells us.
At first, I think that he accidently burned the toast and that they only had flat Coke in the house, so that’s what he brought her. But we soon discover that this is the South African remedy for an upset stomach.
“So, you actually want the Coke to be flat?”
“Yeah, you add sugar to it to make it go flat,” he tells us.
“I thought the bubbles were supposed to make your stomach feel better?”
“No, it’s better for it to be flat.”
“Why do you burn the toast?”
“The burnt part is like the chalk in nausea medication. It helps settle your stomach.”
David and I in unison, “Interesting . . .”
The other South African couple listening to the exchange nod in agreement. Yes, they too have always had burnt toast and flat coke to remedy their stomachaches.
Still not quite a believer (but I shouldn’t judge — I haven’t actually tried it),
Elle
Letters from Afrika 