Being sick is never fun, especially when you don't know what's wrong

I can guarantee this won't be the most interesting post ever, but I'm not feeling well, and somehow it feels better to tell other people about it.

I have taken yesterday and today as sick days. I wasn't feeling well all weekend, but I wasn't sure what was wrong; I just wasn't feeling normal. I was tired, a little spacey, and yes, homesick and also stressed about work.

I had called my grandmother on Saturday evening to wish her a happy 90th birthday. She was at my parents' house, with the rest of the entire family: aunts, uncles, my brother and his wife. There were thirty people in total. Relatives flew in to see her for this party from as far away as Chicago and Colorado (which is 'far' considering my entire family was born and raised in CA). And yet, I wasn't there. There are various reasons for this - the party wasn't planned far enough in advance, tickets were expensive, I couldn't take the time off work. But what it really comes down to is that I just live too far away to be able to go to every major family event. I knew this would happen, but it's still disappointing.

I spent Saturday with friends - pub lunch with Eve, an American friend, Thai fried rice and a bottle of California Chardonnay with Kylie, an Australian friend who lives a 10 minute walk from my flat. Walking home on Saturday night, I realised how cold it had become. It was windy and I was chilled, much different from the previous weekend when we had all pranced around in tank tops declaring it was spring.

I woke up on Sunday intending to go to church, but instead I sat in front of the T.V. with my breakfast and tea, nursing a minor headache and generally feeling like I didn't want to leave the house ever again. It was right about when I was nestled into the corner of the couch, wondering why I wasn't feeling normal, that I got an offer I couldn't refuse - my friend Nick texted me to suggest going to Ikea. This is a big deal because Nick has a car and I wanted to purchase bulky chairs, loads of wine glasses, and a large mirror. So, up I go, into the shower and out the door 30 minutes later to venture to the store of all stores.

In the end, I never bought the chairs. I did buy a mirror, candle holders, vases, hangers, and 36 wine glasses, so it was still a shopping success, but I was feeling worse and worse as the day went on. By the time we had unloaded my Ikea purchases and I was rushing around Sainsbury's before they close (at 5pm on Sundays! Arg - don't get me started), I was in pain. I knew I was walking around with a pout on my face. My stomach hurt; it felt tight like it was being squeezed every now and then. I was exhausted, and everything ached.

I made it home with plenty of groceries. That is, if I were to eat only breakfast food for the next two weeks. See, when I'm not feeling well, the only thing that appeals to me is cereal, juice, yogurt, water, and maybe soup. I made it home, after miserably standing in the cold for 10 minutes waiting for the bus. Landing on the couch, I thought, is this really the end of the weekend already? The rest of the evening consisted of me lying in pain on the couch, eventually throwing up the contents of my stomach, realising around 10pm that I had a fever of 101 degrees, and then calling my mom because that's what you do when you are sick, no matter what country or time zone it is. Yep, I thought, definitely taking another sick day on Monday.

Monday morning I go to the doctor. I had several symptoms for him to diagnose, but he wasn't sure what was wrong with me. He sent me to the local hospital for a series of blood/other tests to test my liver function, glucose levels, see if I have any nasty parasites, etc. Great. I venture over to the NHS hospital in Hampstead, called the Royal Free Hospital. The name is quite funny to me, as 'royal' and 'free' are never names you would associate with U.S. hospitals, or anything in the U.S. really. It's an outdated, unattractive concrete building, with people milling about everywhere or seated on tan or orange vinyl-padded chairs. Rather depressing really, but functional. I find the blood lab, and there isn't a wait. I sit down, they fill several vials and I walk out. [Leaving the building with no bills or invoice *still* feels very strange].

I wandered up to Hampstead Village, had a small lunch at a French boulangerie, and then crossed the street to Starbuck's for some Internet connectivity. Over the course of 4 hours and 2 mugs of green tea, I was subjected to several screaming children, each of which made me tense, angry, and one time I seriously considered leaving after I sat there with my fingers in my ears to try and block out the sound. That was the downside. The upside was that the OTC meds I bought started to work (ibuprofen with codeine) and that I booked my Christmas ticket home as well as a trip home to the OC/SF this August. I also got to watch the intermittent snow flurries. The snowflakes were enormous, but melted as soon as they hit the ground.

I left after 6pm, right as another snow flurry started. It continued the entire way home, and although it was absolutely beautiful (even locals were taking pictures with their camera phones), by the time I walked in the door, I had bright pink cheeks, a wet wool coat, and frozen toes. I spent the evening in front of the T.V. watching "Amelie" and then to bed to start a borrowed book, The Kite Runner.

Today is Tuesday, and I'm at another Hampstead Starbuck's (mental note: this one has less children). Having given up on acquiring Internet access at home by the end of March, I've purchased a one-month T-Mobile Hotspot pass -- I will be frequenting Starbuck's a LOT this next month. I had to return to the Royal Free today for another test, and I will need to be home in another hour to wait for the plumber to arrive to check the issues we are having with the boiler. I feel somewhat guilty. I'm not sick in that at any given moment I look like I'm on my death bed, but I'm certainly not well, and I don't know what is wrong. I'm not used to feeling this way for such long periods of time, and it has crossed my mind that whatever is wrong with me could have psychosomatic influences.

I will probably take tomorrow off as well. I feel like over the last three months, even when I have taken time off to get better, I must have never taken enough time, because in the end, I don't get better! I just want to be healthy again, and I've rarely felt that way since I've moved here. And yet, I am happy here. I don't want anyone to take this entry the wrong way. I've already made some great friends and am looking forward to so many upcoming activities. I just want to be healthy enough to enjoy them and be able to do my job well. It doesn't seem like too much to ask.