Yesterday I returned to class, and though we didn’t have our morning lecture, we had two back-to-back lectures in the afternoon – four straight hours of lecture, then almost right into dinner. I went seven straight hours without blowing my nose, which since last Wednesday, hadn’t happened. Not because I didn’t need to, but because I’ve not adopted the handkerchief practice, and nor was I about to carry around a roll of toilet paper, and a bag for the detritus.
And praise the Lord, I actually slept last night! It was glorious. I’m not convinced that the infection has been sufficiently vanquished by the antibiotics, so I returned to the clinic. The doctor was very nice, gave me some cold and cough medicine, and told me to finish the antibiotics. The nurse who dispenses meds didn’t give me any more. I don’t know whether this was a miscommunication, as I finished the antibiotics last night, or intentional, but I took the doctor’s words to heart and went across the street to the drug store (literally – it’s the place where I get my malaria prophylactic, and it’s a tiny closet, and all they sell is drugs) and got another five day supply.
The funny thing was that my with my public reappearance today, the theologians who aren’t in my class didn’t know I was sick; many of them thought I was on the mission that went out this weekend. So when people asked how I was, and in my raspy voice, I replied that I was sick, they’d in turn ask if it was malaria. I realize that sick is a euphemism for malaria, but aren’t there other sicknesses here? Perhaps I’ve just got the lingo wrong, and sick is truly reserved for malaria. But everyone told me I’d be better, and wished me a quick recovery. I love that so much more than “get well” or “feel better!”
My guess on Sunday was accurate: when I went to the cathedral, the provost heard me say hello and asked why I came. That stumped me. Then, sweet man that he is, he lamented that I didn’t have his phone number and couldn’t call to tell him I was sick. True enough, but I literally haven’t seen the man in a month of Sundays – he’s been at other churches. If anything, I would have called my supervisor, but that was lovely of him to think that I could/should have taken a bye week. The vicar asked me what I wanted to do in the service, and while I was struggling to find a way to say that I’d prefer to not torture the congregation with my voice, the provost intervened and said I’d just sit there. The vicar agreed, and told me to be free with them about my preferences.
I shall atone for my silence on March 13th, as I am preaching on the first Sunday of Lent. The sermon may well be recorded, as the USPs won’t be around, and they want to see the sermon. I’ll let you know if it does get recorded, though I doubt it will be posted anywhere – I don’t have that kind of bandwidth.
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