I am not in love with Prague.
Shocking news, I know.
Not in love yet, anyway. People seem to rave on and on about how beautiful and romantic the city is. Not that I’ve had much time to see it – what with getting sick and being in class all day and preparing lesson plans. And hiking up a hill to get to my rented villa.
We will see what the weekend will bring. Perhaps some love. Or not.
For some reason I keep thinking about Spanish – how that is the language that would make me feel most at home in this part of the world. It is familiar, comforting. I was thinking about Barcelona – still not sure where I’m going to spend the holidays yet. Am hoping to stay in Europe but we will see. Also – come to think of it, Barcelona is the closest thing to home in Europe – not that I left the States with the desire to search for familiar and ho-hum things.
I went to the doctor’s office. It had been three days and my cold wasn’t getting any better, despite tea and over the counter medicine and a ton of EmergenC and Airborne. His name was Dr. Seifert and he spoke English, and was recommended by the TEFL program, so I gave his office a ring. After a short metro ride to the Krzikova station, I found the office and went in, waiting in the little room. No receptionist or open hatch desk for people to sign in, so I just sat there and waited with the other patient. After awhile, I am the only one in the waiting room. Sure enough, a nurse emerges – she is wearing white from head to toe – white sneakers, white pants, white shirt. She dons a pair of wire framed glasses and says something to me in Czech.
“Um…I’m here to see Dr. Seifert?”
“Ah…(something something in Czech) Anglicky?” (This, anglicky, I understood.)
“Ah, okay.” A couple minutes later she motions me to come on back.
The doctor sits me down in a chair next to his desk. I relay my symptoms, and my current situation. He asks if I would like to take a test to check for bacterial infection.
I am sitting in a chair in the little nurses’ room adjacent to the doctor’s office. There are two nurses – one with short dark hair whom looks friendly. The other one is taller, more heavyset, and has frizzy light brown-greyish hair – she is the one that dons glasses; she is the scarier looking one of the two. She ends up being the nurse to prick my finger and get a blood sample. I look away and anticipate the pain of the pricking.
I am sitting back in the doctor’s office.
“It’s a peak time for colds and the flu, late November,” he says. This should comfort me but somehow doesn’t. His slow speech in English and his posture are calming, though.
He writes on a post-it note the names of a couple of over-the-counter medications, as well as his recommendations. On it, he writes, ‘tea’, and ‘relax!’, which I figure he means as ‘get some rest.’
“You are a bit infectious, so you should rest at home for at least a day or two. You will get better, just take the Coldrex, drink lots of tea, and use the nasal drops.”
In conclusion: ‘Relax!’