Today is some religious holiday here in Colombia to celebrate the feast of something (or at least that's what I understood Jimmy's driver to say yesterday). I told him I would pray for him and his family today.
Jimmy's sick. He's self-diagnosed himself with strep. So I pulled out an old Zithromax prescription that Mac was given two years ago when he first got strep, went to the pharmacy where I covered the dosage amount (which was a liquid form with a dosage suitable for an 8 year-old) while showing the paper to the pharmacist who sold me a Z-Pack. Hope his self-diagnosis is right.
(As an aside, when you get a prescription filled here, they give you the paper back so you can file it with your insurance reimbursement. However, in my case, because I don't have to file the prescription with my insurance company to get reimbursed like Colombians do, I file it in my file cabinet, where I pull it out as necessary and reuse it.)
While at the pharmacy (which is located inside the grocery store next door), I got a big bag of oranges, came home, blew the dust off the juicer, and squeezed the boy some fresh OJ. I've also started a big pot of vegetable soup because that seems healthy and strep-throat-alleviating-ish.
I don't do nursemaid really well, and now at the hour of 10am, I've pretty much exhausted my compassion quota for the day. Hope that Z-Pack takes effect sooner rather than later.
(Oh, and I forgot to mention I slept on the couch last night to avoid getting infected by Jimmy's breathing on me and to allow him a good night's sleep, which means I didn't really sleep at all because the fish filter was right by my head, making all that gurgling noise all night. And the couch is too short. And not very wide.)
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to lay on the couch with the back of my hand Velcroed to my forehead and call myself Florence Nightingale. I'm pretty sure I deserve it.
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