We Have Visitors, I Get Sick

Two of my Proietti sisters-in-law, Linda and Laura, came to see us in late October. They were our first visitors and we were so happy to have them. They are wonderful travelers, always up for anything or even nothing. We’ve traveled to different places together and it’s always a blast.    

I planned a few things to do upon their arrival in London, including visiting the National Gallery, Tower of London and Tate Modern museum. We hit a pub or three, also. My favorite day was taking the train to Windsor and doing a castle tour (which was really pretty good), lunch and then a play (Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard) with Ian McKellen in a supporting role.   

Two days after this us girls caught a train to Edinburgh, Scotland, where we had rented an AirBnB for three nights. The day we left I knew I had a bladder infection. If you’ve ever had one, it’s very easy to diagnose: it’s painful when you pee, which you do constantly, and sometimes there’s blood. Before heading out of London we stopped at a pharmacy and got some cranberry pills which has always helped me before.    

I was really sick by the time we arrived in Edinburgh. We got a cab and went to a pharmacy straight away (that’s what the Brits say). Linda, a retired registered nurse, had made an appointment for me by phone to see a doctor there. For some reason, once we arrived, they wouldn’t see me then or, really, anytime. What the hey?  

So we needed a cab again. It was now raining hard, surprisingly for the first time since I’d been in the UK. It was too windy to use my umbrella. We absolutely could not get a cab. We walked, trying to find one in different areas. No luck. I got a bit separated from the girls but Linda found me. Laura was in a hotel asking to have a cab called.  

It had been over an hour since we got off the train and I had to pee. Badly. The kind lady in the hotel that we were not staying at said I could use their toilet. I rushed down the stairs and across the hall into the bathroom. I was too late. I had wet myself. Humiliating. I came back upstairs to Laura and Linda and told them I didn’t make it.   

Shortly after, a cab pulled up to the hotel. Thank God, I thought. Laura asked the driver if this was the cab she ordered. The driver said no and that he couldn’t take us if we’d ordered one. Laura got out of the cab and I got in. I was desperate. I told the cab driver Laura was mistaken, that we hadn’t order a cab. I yelled for the girls to get in, which they did. I spread my umbrella on the seat under me. A long coat helped hide my shame, too.   

We reached the flat but had a hard time figuring out how to enter. It involved finding keys in a lockbox across the street behind trash bins. I forgot what the code is and called Matt in London to check my email for it. Is this really my life? Looking behind dumpsters in wet pants? We got the keys, then hiked up four flights of stairs with our luggage. The keys didn’t open what we thought was our flat. There are two flats on that floor with no markings designating which is which. More chaos ensued before we finally got in. I got to use the bathroom first, so I took a bath and went to bed.   

Now, this National Health Service thing is awesome. What a country! 

I got a cab immediately and asked to go to any pharmacy and then on to my flat. Nice lady driver. I love me some UK cabbies. It’s still only about 8 but she finds one open. I go in and, in some desperation, ask for some antibiotics. He asked my age. I was honest. He said I’m too old for the free antibiotics. You can’t be older than 60.

“Can we pretend we didn’t have this conversation?” I ask. “I’ll walk out and come back in and give you a better answer.”  

“No,” he said, very kindly. “Sorry.”  

I dashed back to the cabby and asked her to wait as I went to another pharmacy around the corner. I knew success was close at hand. I told the pharmacist what I needed. He said I needed a prescription from my doctor. I explained I didn’t have one as I’m just visiting the UK and, plus, the hospital woman told me any pharmacy could give me enough antibiotics to tide me over until I’m back in London. He reached for a 3-inch binder to explain why he couldn’t help. I reached for the door. How had it gone, so quickly, from me being able to get a prescription at ANY pharmacy to this guy having a collection of material telling me why I couldn’t? I was too sick to argue and had the cab driver take me back to the AirBnB.   

The train ride back to London was bad, but no worse than the ride up had been. Matt met us at the King’s Cross train station to give Linda and Laura keys to our flat. He scurried me to the Princess Grace Urgent Care Center in Marylebone, where I’ve been seen twice previously. You pay 100 pounds to see a doctor, have testing and get a prescription filled, all right there. They tested me for COVID. I was negative. The doctor confirmed a bladder infection and got me antibiotics.   

By Saturday, I was sicker and had hallucinated overnight, much to Matt's chagrin. We went back to the Princess Grace. They checked again for COVID. This time, I was positive. They don’t treat patients with that virus so a nurse directed us to the University College Hospital emergency room down the street. The bouncer at the door let me in, but not Matt. He and other loved ones must stay outside.  

They took lung x-rays and again tested my blood and urine. Five hours later, they released me with no other medicine or direction, just to go home and quarantine. That was two weeks ago. I feel much better now, but still have low energy. I had enough, though, to go for high tea yesterday at the swanky Harrod’s department store for my birthday. Afterward, we took a cab through the city to see the newly released British film Motherly Sunday starring Colin Firth, Olivia Colman and some other recognizable British actors. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d give it a solid 8. Matt concurs. It was a wonderful day for me.