I flew from London to Seattle the other day and by some quirk of nature managed to stay awake for most of the 9 hour long haul. And, so I managed to observe something quite unique.  A few hours into the flight, we flew over Greenland, with the sun casting pink and orange hues from a seemingly unmoving position on the horizon’s verge. The view from our lofty height of 36,000 feet was astounding, revealing Greenland as a landscape of pure white interrupted by stunning mountain ranges. The pinkish clouds you see in the photo is actually the jet-stream from the plane reflecting the dipping sun. I would like to have done true justice to this magnificent scene, but it’s the best I could manage with a heavy duty Perspex window in my way – and the in-flight map suggested it was a bit cold outside.

Greenland: Snow, ice and mountains.

November has proven to be a bit of a strange month for both Margaret and I. Around about the 10th of November, I came down with the flu. I pretty much knew it from the outset that it was flu – because unlike a prissy head-cold, I was rendered useless with fevers and aches, and from Day 1, my chest began to tighten. There was no ceremonial sniffle or sore throat – this flu bug had decided to go straight for the sauce. My initial reaction was “How inconvenient!” because it was during that same week our bathroom was also rendered semi-useless. What we had thought was just a simple tiling job, turned into a major exercise in carpentry. Effectively our shower was out for 5 days – so in my flu stupor I had to put up with tepid hand washes. So not a pleasant week – and by the end of it, it got worse as a visit to the doctor confirmed the flu had brought on asthma – symptoms I might add I had not experienced for about 10 years. Must be something about London – the weather, the hard-core respiratory viruses here… maybe.

 

So the doctor ladens me with some official asthma merchandise. You know what I mean. A reliever inhaler and also a prevention inhaler, the latter of which ejects some sort of steroid into your lungs. There goes my Olympic dream. “Sorry sir. even though you ran last in every event we’re going to have to ban you for life, for having roids in the lungs”. 

 

Despite feeling decidedly unwell, I have to say I was also very annoyed by it all. A mere week ago, I’m right as rain, bright as button, ginger as a tosser, breathing like a demon – and then a week later the doc says I’m out on my ear doing James Earl Jones impressions. But I wore it, started taking the asthma meds, and it gave me some relief for a while – actually started to feel a bit better once the initial flu symptoms subsided. This was a good thing, because Margaret and I had a 5 day trip lined up to New York (to attend a friends wedding) and I wanted to be right for that.

 

Just to be safe, a couple of days before we were due to fly, I visited the doc again – cause to be fair my breathing had the purr of a lion (an Australian one and not a British one – so that’s pretty hardcore). He listened intently to my chest – said it was clear, gave me a prescription for Amoxycillin to make me feel better – but insisted that I shouldn’t cash in on the antibiotic just yet – given it was a virus – blah, blah – antibiotics – blah, do nothing for viruses – blah. But, being Mr Safe – I went to the pharmacy and got the stuff just before we were due to fly out for New York.

 

I don’t know what it is about Heathrow Terminal 4. The cafes and eateries there are very average. And for some reason unbeknown to me, every time I’ve travelled from this terminal this year, I always end up going for a bite in the same Italian cafe, (the name escapes me) that is at the far end of the terminal – and of course the flight we were on, was to leave from the other extremity. So after a meal of minestrone and Amoxycillin, Margaret and I ran to board our flight. We made it, although the chest was bursting at this point.

 

Flight was fine – actually slept and we arrived at JFK about midnight – and to the hotel, the Shelburne in Murray Hill – corner of 37th and Lexington. Day 1 in NY was actually fairly enjoyable, despite the fact that I was feeling below average. We took in the Empire State Building followed by a sobering visit to Ground-Zero. It was a bit strange. 7 years earlier – almost to the day, I had visited the observation floor of the World Trade Center. Still have the ticket stub. So for it actually not to be there was surreal. It’s now been replaced with a Port Authority train station and the rest of it is a construction site. The only real signs of the devastation there, are a series of pictures – depicting the timeline of September 11 – but more resonating were the series of murals, on the train station walls – children farewelling and paying tribute to countless lost fathers. Very sad.

 

The afternoon was a bit more enjoyable – we walked down to Battery Park and took the ferry to Liberty Island. Alas for reasons of terror, the Statue is now closed – so we took a stroll around the island – before returning to Manhattan and hitting Century 21 – a very ordinary shopping experience in the history of ordinary shopping experiences. Too many people – looking for too many bargains. I think it was at this point my body told my lungs to pack it in – and extricate yourself from there post haste.

 

 

Following morning, my Asthma reliever stopped working. I actually thought the air-cabin pressure on the flight probably buggered it. So, had to pay a visit to the doctor. Ah, my first experience of the US medical system. As it happened, rather conveniently, there was a medical centre in the Shelburne hotel. You simply walked to the left of the reception, through a door – and all of a sudden you’re in the world of Corporate America masquerading as a Medical Centre. It was weird – bit like Dorothy opening the front door of her trashed house to reveal Oz. Before you could say “I need to see a doctor”, the receptionist, a strong contender for  Wicked Witch of the West in a stiff New Yorker accent exclaimed “Sit over there my pretty, while I work out who can help you”. So a few minutes later, she just says to go a few ladies down the desk and ask this other desk-jockey for help. “So, why didn’t you just say that from the start?”, I thought. Anyway, I saw the Wicked Witch of the East – she made me fill out a few forms – one of which would preclude someone from being sued. “Whatever!” About an hour later, I’m seeing a doctor – she checks my lungs – says yeah your pretty tight – but they’re clear (this despite the fact I told her my chest was heaving more goo than that bulimic phantom in Ghost busters).

 

She then tells me that in the US – they don’t have my Asthma reliever – so she gave me an inhaler that resembled a mini-discus. Cool thing about it, was that this would also remove the need for me inhaling steroids too. 200 USD later, we’re back on the streets. To the shops – um Bloomingdales to be precise. Another afternoon shopping. Margaret was in her element – I felt decidedly better that we weren’t in Century 21 – although I was promised another visit before our 5 day stint was to conclude. Our day did end with a visit to the uninspiring Rockefeller centre. Ice rinks, Ice schminks. Got offered to go see Conan O’Brian’s show – but decided I didn’t know who the hell he was, so had a Starbucks and Ben & Jerry’s instead. The evening was good though. Caught up with several friends who had all converged on Manhattan for the wedding of friends Jason and Denise on the Friday. An Irish bar and a Mexican was the order of the night.

 

Friday morning, Century 21 was on the cards. It was at this point, my body just had had enough. I was feeling mostly less than average. My cough was worse, the mini-discus was doing nothing as too was the Amoxycillin. And here I was sitting in the shoe section of Century 21 – contemplating how crap the Nike selection was, and feeling a lot of empathy for Darth Vader. But I made the wedding. Great ceremony, nice little Church, Our Lady of Peace a few blocks north of Bloomingdales. This was then followed by a reception at tha Katano hotel on Park Ave. Despite the fact, I was feeling pretty ill at this point – no appetite, painful cough, hard to breathe – lovely – it was a great spot. The reception room opened on to a balcony, which revealed the Manhattan skyline – the Chrysler building and Empire State Building all lit up. So that was pretty cool – but more so was the paracetamol which carried me through to early morning and back to the hotel.

 

Saturday morning was pretty horrible. My chest was now a slime machine. I could have hired myself out to a special effects studio it was spouting that much viscous green. Sorry, about the wonderful imagery there. But I promised myself I would use the word viscous in this blog entry at some point. So, at 8am, Margaret rings the front desk of the hotel – and they tell me the Wicked Witch of the West wasn’t open today – so I’d have to go to NYU ER.

 

NYU ER. Cool! Barely acknowledged as a human being by the lard-arsed Latino in the reception – he dismissed my Travel Insurance document like it was the cold anchovies of the Pizza he had for breakfast that morning. But, he took my request to see a doctor a little more seriously when I waved the Amex. That’s gonna cost you $600 USD – is that okay. “Sure”, I rasped. A short while later, I’m being seen by a nurse – she checks my chest – says “Nice pecks” – and then she checks my breathing. (poetic license man ). She nods, and a short while later a doctor comes in – and checks my chest. She says nothing about my pecks – but says “Your wheeze is most impressive”. (best said in a Darth Vader tone for effect) She says it’s off to x-ray for you. But before that – they put me on a nebuliser. What’s a nebuliser? Well, it’s a little breathing apparatus that sees oxygen vapourise some sort of breathing medicine – and you sit there and breathe it all in for about half an hour. Whatever it was, it was great. It opened up every bronchi, and aveoli in my lungs and I was breathing much easier by the end of it. Then to x-ray. Only point of interest here, was that he put a lead waist belt around my hips before zapping my lungs with radiation. I enquired about protecting my kidneys – and he just smiled and said it was for my gonads. Curious thing, is that I’ve since returned to the UK and have had 2 further chest x-rays – and the NHS do not supply a bollock-barrier….. mild concern. Will I have X-men for kiddies?

 

Anyway, I digress. I return from x-ray and the nurse gives me a second dose of the nebuliser. After I finish this, another doctor shows up and checks my chest – and also checks me for DVT. She seemed satisfied I wasn’t about to pop a clot – and returned a few minutes later to inform me I had pneumonia – in my right lobe. I scratched my ear – but felt nothing. Pneumonia – what the? A mere 2 days ago, the Corporate America doctor had said my chest was clear. So, they put me on Azithromycin – a broad-spectrum Pneumonia antibiotic – they gave me 2 for my 600 bucks – then gave me a prescription for another 9. But to be fair, they also gave me  an Asthma reliever inhaler – called Albuterol. I was informed that it would make the mini-discus obsolete. (I learned later that Albuterol is the same drug as Salbutomol – the same Asthma reliever I was given in the UK. What the? Bloody Corporate America doesn’t have a clue I thought. Is it possible to develop pneumonia in 2 days?)

 

Anyways, the new antibiotic seems to have done the trick, although as I mentioned earlier, I had another chest x-ray at St Georges in Tooting shortly after arriving back in London. They confirmed I had an infection,  fluid in he lining of the diaphragm and 1 million fried sperm (I jest at the latter).  10 days later, and I’m waiting on the results of a second chest x-ray – to see if I’ve shaken this bug once and for all. (drum roll) Why it takes 10 days to take a picture, make a comment and post it to my doctor beggars belief. Bit like an astronomer who takes a picture of a comet and takes 10 days to write the report that would inform the world it will devastate in the planet earth in 9 days. Whatever! At some stage, I’m going to investigate whether my private health cover can get round this shambolic system.

 

But of course, there is always a twist to the end of any blog entry. And that is, just a few days after returning from NY – Margaret displays symptoms of flu – fevers, chills, sore throat, cough – and as of the latest doctor’s visit – she has a confirmed chest infection and is on the obligatory course of Amoxycillin. She is now scheduled to have a chest x-ray at the delightful St Georges. I only hope that this bug does not run the same course with Margaret. In the 6 years, we’ve been going out – Margaret has barely had a cold, let alone a chest infection. And now the both of us have had flu and chest infection – I’ve had fricken pneumonia – all within a few weeks. In short, my theory is that London and the UK is awash with every hard-core respiratory virus and bacterium going. In the words of Jack Nicholson, in the first Batman film “This town needs an enema!”. Well, if not an enema – perhaps a stiff shot of lung steroid up the arse might do the trick. I say this with much passion and fervour while flinging a certain mini-discus around my bedroom.

 

Of course there is another theory to this virus phenomenon -  I passed this bug onto Margaret. That’s a fair cop – but what, I wanna know is who the clown was that gave it to me…… “Put ‘em up! Put ‘em up!”