Being sick in India is a little like waking up in Oz. Nothing is as it seems and it's all very contradictory to what you're used to. (I should specify, being sick in India at my in-laws' house...I don't know how other Indian parents behave in this situation.)
Growing up, if I was sick at my stomach, it was all stale soda crackers and flat ginger ale and maybe some clear broth if I was a good girl (unless my dad was taking care of me, in which case there was always always always peanut butter on those soda crackers, something I still crave whenever I don't feel well). No dairy, no foods that are hard to digest, no sweets. As an adult I quickly learned that a big cup of coffee is a surefire way to let's say clear out your stomach in the morning. If I had a cold, the prescription was much the same. Simple foods like broth, the steamier the better, and lots and lots of rest. Always rest when you're sick. We weren't even allowed to leave the bed to rest on the sofa and watch tv until we started feeling better. This is what I grew up with.
And then I came to India. I know it's on the opposite side of the world, but I didn't realize that meant everything has to be the opposite.
Not long after I got here, I got sick at my stomach. This terrified me because the last time I got sick at my stomach in India, it lasted for two weeks and cost me about 20 pounds and only went away once I was safely back in the U.S. I still had about 7 weeks left on this trip, so naturally I freaked out and tried to do everything possible to ensure it would pass quickly. This is not easy to do when what you think you should do to feel better and what your in-laws think you should do to feel better are not at all the same thing. I was given daal three meals a day, a food that is notoriously difficult to digest. I was force fed a glass of milk every morning. Coffee was prescribed as a surefire way to calm the bowels and put an end to my sprinting to the bathroom.
All of my protests about how my stomach would actually react to these things were completely ignored or dismissed with a comment about how I just haven't been doing it right. And those brief, shining moments where my mother-in-law would appear to actually be upset that I felt so terrible and would seem to be taking care of me came to an abrupt end as soon as she had accomplished her goal for that particular minute (say, stopping the stomach cramps with some home remedy) or it was determined that I still did not feel better even after two minutes of attention from her. She would then promptly expect me to jump up and be 100% cured and ready for whatever it is she had planned for me that day, anything from helping to cook to going to a party with her friends. She is the queen of the fake out.
This week, after several days in a row of running around outside in all the dirt and pollution that is India, followed by a morning spent in the cold raininess of Sinhagard, I woke up with a cold. A full-on can't breathe, sneezing and blowing the nose nonstop, fevered, exhausting cold. On day one, this was met with some sympathy. They got me up to bathe and eat breakfast, then sent me right back to bed. Hallelujah. They understand what it means to be sick and are looking out for me! Day two of the cold, however, was met with a mixture of amazement that I could possibly still be sick and annoyance that I would do this to me for a second day.
My brother-in-law, who I know for a fact fell sick for no fewer than 5 days right after he returned to India from the U.S., suggested going for a jog would make me feel better. Because when your body is using all its resources to fight off a virus, it's always a good idea to do some heavy activity to give it competition. My mother-in-law repeatedly told me I should go outside for a walk. Outside on the traffic-laden road with all the dirt flying and the pollution that even natives can't handle? No thanks. In the evening I was told I would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to go to the gym with my mother-in-law because "once you get the body warm, the cold will go." I fully agree...if you're talking about the temperature. But since we're not, I will bite your head off if you dare to wake me at that hour.
Thankfully, today I woke up feeling much better, though I still need to carry a tissue box around with me. When I went downstairs at the much more respectable hour of 9:30 (compared to 1pm yesterday) I was met with such a look of relief. You would have thought I'd told them I was going to blow up their house and showed them the bomb, then said 'just kidding' and revealed it was actually playdoh.
I realize there are probably many many things I will never understand about my in-laws, and many things they will never understand about me. Maybe one day we can establish a truce where they're not expected to take care of me as long as they let me do things how I need to do them when I'm sick. Or maybe (hopefully) I'll just never ever get sick again while I'm in their house. I know the latter is probably impossible but so, I fear, is the former.
Growing up, if I was sick at my stomach, it was all stale soda crackers and flat ginger ale and maybe some clear broth if I was a good girl (unless my dad was taking care of me, in which case there was always always always peanut butter on those soda crackers, something I still crave whenever I don't feel well). No dairy, no foods that are hard to digest, no sweets. As an adult I quickly learned that a big cup of coffee is a surefire way to let's say clear out your stomach in the morning. If I had a cold, the prescription was much the same. Simple foods like broth, the steamier the better, and lots and lots of rest. Always rest when you're sick. We weren't even allowed to leave the bed to rest on the sofa and watch tv until we started feeling better. This is what I grew up with.
And then I came to India. I know it's on the opposite side of the world, but I didn't realize that meant everything has to be the opposite.
Not long after I got here, I got sick at my stomach. This terrified me because the last time I got sick at my stomach in India, it lasted for two weeks and cost me about 20 pounds and only went away once I was safely back in the U.S. I still had about 7 weeks left on this trip, so naturally I freaked out and tried to do everything possible to ensure it would pass quickly. This is not easy to do when what you think you should do to feel better and what your in-laws think you should do to feel better are not at all the same thing. I was given daal three meals a day, a food that is notoriously difficult to digest. I was force fed a glass of milk every morning. Coffee was prescribed as a surefire way to calm the bowels and put an end to my sprinting to the bathroom.
All of my protests about how my stomach would actually react to these things were completely ignored or dismissed with a comment about how I just haven't been doing it right. And those brief, shining moments where my mother-in-law would appear to actually be upset that I felt so terrible and would seem to be taking care of me came to an abrupt end as soon as she had accomplished her goal for that particular minute (say, stopping the stomach cramps with some home remedy) or it was determined that I still did not feel better even after two minutes of attention from her. She would then promptly expect me to jump up and be 100% cured and ready for whatever it is she had planned for me that day, anything from helping to cook to going to a party with her friends. She is the queen of the fake out.
This week, after several days in a row of running around outside in all the dirt and pollution that is India, followed by a morning spent in the cold raininess of Sinhagard, I woke up with a cold. A full-on can't breathe, sneezing and blowing the nose nonstop, fevered, exhausting cold. On day one, this was met with some sympathy. They got me up to bathe and eat breakfast, then sent me right back to bed. Hallelujah. They understand what it means to be sick and are looking out for me! Day two of the cold, however, was met with a mixture of amazement that I could possibly still be sick and annoyance that I would do this to me for a second day.
My brother-in-law, who I know for a fact fell sick for no fewer than 5 days right after he returned to India from the U.S., suggested going for a jog would make me feel better. Because when your body is using all its resources to fight off a virus, it's always a good idea to do some heavy activity to give it competition. My mother-in-law repeatedly told me I should go outside for a walk. Outside on the traffic-laden road with all the dirt flying and the pollution that even natives can't handle? No thanks. In the evening I was told I would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to go to the gym with my mother-in-law because "once you get the body warm, the cold will go." I fully agree...if you're talking about the temperature. But since we're not, I will bite your head off if you dare to wake me at that hour.
Thankfully, today I woke up feeling much better, though I still need to carry a tissue box around with me. When I went downstairs at the much more respectable hour of 9:30 (compared to 1pm yesterday) I was met with such a look of relief. You would have thought I'd told them I was going to blow up their house and showed them the bomb, then said 'just kidding' and revealed it was actually playdoh.
I realize there are probably many many things I will never understand about my in-laws, and many things they will never understand about me. Maybe one day we can establish a truce where they're not expected to take care of me as long as they let me do things how I need to do them when I'm sick. Or maybe (hopefully) I'll just never ever get sick again while I'm in their house. I know the latter is probably impossible but so, I fear, is the former.
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