travelswithalice

1.  Stuart, Super Nurse.
Working from home, he alternates between his day job at Citi and his main job as care giver. Providing round the clock room service featuring gourmet meals sourced from far and wide, pitchers of soothing cold water (with lemon slices!), junk food, and endless cups of tea and coffee.

Infinitely more precious is the sense of security, the sense of being cared for. The cheerful talk, the pep talk, the you're-doing-very-well talk. Plus a steady stream of movies to watch. Downloaded movies. Pirated?

(Act i, Scene i. A courtroom.
Your honor, it was for love of me that my dear husband got started on his life of crime... it was motivated by the purest love!)


2.  I have a bone to pick with the sweet little lady doctor that Stuart brought to my bedside. The diagnosis was a foregone conclusion but Cristy, my Colorum Doctor, very wisely refused to tell me what Tita Rusting usually prescribes for chicken pox. At least not without eyeballing the case.  I tried to send her pictures of the spots but they failed to reach her by MMS, Viber, or email. Hence, the doctor.

My usual conversation with any medical practitioner I happen to have the misfortune of being forced to consult with always goes like this:
"You know, Doctor/Nurse/Lab Technician/ Pharmacist/ etc,  I have to be extremely careful with whatever medication I take because of a history of anaphylactic shock. I've been rushed to the ER three times, and each time I've been told I'm lucky to be alive... blah blah blah, blah blah blah..."

Then, I said the only doctor who fully understands my predicament is the pediatrician who took care of me, hoping she will agree to confer with her.

Swiftly came what may have been the cruelest blow; her quick response:
"Buhay pa ba, ma'am?"  (Is she still alive, ma'am?)

I'm considering a malpractice suit.


3.  This is the Southern Cross constellation:



There is a faithful rendering of it on my left side. It absurdly points rather accurately to the South Pole of this particular celestial body (sic or sick?) in question.

Should I send a picture of my one to scientific/ astronomical societies' publications maybe?


4.  I'm getting used to this now, this constant checking on the progress of my spots. It's like a science project. Except I'm the one under the microscope.

Not on a slab of marble at least. That's a comfort.


5.  I suppose I can use Krissy's word for this strange disease. Fugly. It's funny and ugly. Oops, sorry! That's not what it means, is it?  I remember now, it means something else. Well, it means that too, thank you very much. In fact I can't think of a better word to describe it. Fucking ugly.