Diary of a Hypochondriac

Still not better. Heinous apple cider vinegar and cayenne pepper concoctions did nothing, although hot water with lemon and copious amounts of honey did provide some soothing relief for my throat - but then it spread into my chest. So I've had a tight chest, cough, sore throat, and a little shortness of breath the past week - as well as not much of a voice.

Harry is back tomorrow and we have tickets to see Wicked on Friday night, so I really need to get better!

And I was supposed to go with a guy in our church (a refugee) to his first shift at a new job so that he would know how to get there and back on public transit - but thankfully another lady stepped up to the plate. That was Monday. Today another African brother in our church needed a ride way out to the suburbs to an interview location, and absolutely no-one was available to take him. Thankfully I went back to the doc yesterday and now she gave me a bunch of things to take, including one (yay!) prescription (but still not an antibiotic). She also told me I am not contagious. So I took him this morning, armed with my lemon honey water in a flask, and am now resting again at home. He was so sweet - in his broken English he told me "God bless you, you're trying hard for me." Unfortunately, it didn't work out. His English is just not good enough for the position (a safety issue they said - loading UPS packages on the runway at the airport.) Argh!!! It just breaks my heart. Feliki has 7 kids and wants so desperately to work. How would any one of us feel having to learn a brand new language at 42 years old, when you've spent your whole life in a refugee camp? I've already forgotten the 4 words he's taught me in Kirundi!!
I'm just praying something comes through for him. If I had the money I'd run a business that only hired refugees. I don't know what we'd do - but that would be the point. I'd have the money so that it wouldn't have to be profitable!

Poor Little Bunny

I am sick. I've had a sore throat the past few days, and went on WebMD to see if I could figure out what I had. Among my options were: strep throat; the common cold; and throat cancer. Hmmm.
Reminds me of that old The Onion article on parents using the internet to radically misdiagnose their children.
Just in case though, off I toodled to the doctor who radically diagnosed me as having a "sore throat" - of the common cold and post-nasal drip variety. While some would say "at least it's not strep", I think I'd prefer that because then I could take some antibiotics and clear it away. Now I'm left with over-the-counter medications that only suppress symptoms and/or heinous home remedies involving cayenne pepper and apple cider vinegar. Which I don't have in the house anyway, so I'd have to go to the store for that.
Argh. My throat hurts like heck. Yes, I said it. H-E-C-K. I can barely swallow and it actually makes me want to cry.

(I'm hardly ever sick like this so I hope you can pardon my moaning and whinging. But at least you should know that when it comes to whinging and moaning, I am not alone.)

P.S. I hope to blog about our time with Harry last week soon - he is in Hawaii right now and will be back with us on the 19th.

Harry is here. Sans Bag.

Finally the day arrived - Harry, my brother, has come to visit from beautiful Cape Town, South Africa (see above). He was due to arrive at 3:45pm. At 3:30pm, while I was stuck waiting for a train to pass through Edgebrook (a neighborhood en route to the airport), Eric called to say Harry's plane had landed. After racing as fast as I could, I then wasted further precious minutes trying to figure my way into the 'meet and greet' parking at O'Hare. Ample signs - but at the actual entrance? Nary a one. So I circled the airport a couple of times, getting more stressed every time I passed the same landmark AGAIN. Where was this elusive entrance to the parking!!??
To cut a long story short, I did eventually arrive to find Harry at his baggage claim carousel. He'd been there for a while, but rather than worrying about where I was, he was anxious about his suitcase, which had yet to appear. Another long story to cut short. It never did. In fact, it wasn't even in the computer system when we went to customer service. So right now, we're praying that somehow, some way, his blue roller bag will be found, and wing its way from Washington D.C. (the last sighting) to Chicago, and to our home. At least he had a couple of changes of clothing in his carry-on. Poor guy, seriously the last thing he needed after traveling for 40-some hours.
Let's hope tomorrow brings some good news, as well as fun adventures in Chicago!