"Va Bene" Tiziana and Flaminia

When I’m sick, I want to be home under cover, with my dog, Zeppe, sleeping by my side. I haven’t been sick in two years. Two whole years of intensive grad school, and I’ve remained well; that is until the second week here in Urbino.

My throat started feeling scratchy and my voice was slowly fading. By day three, I had a productive cough with a heavy chest. Two Italian friends were visiting for the weekend, and I was happy to have them to help me in my time of need.  However, I was frustrated that I could not fully enjoy the fun. While touring Cagli Saturday evening, Tiziana and Flaminia took me into a pharmacy when my cough was no longer something I could ignore.

I felt completely at their mercy as they explained to the pharmacist, in Italian of course, that I was ill. I pride myself on my independence when traveling throughout this country, but at this point I was feeling more like a fish in a pail waiting for someone to rescue me. And for the first time on this trip, I wanted to be home. I wanted to be home where I could read through the medicines, pick one to take and heal on my own.

The pharmacist emerged as quickly as she disappeared, to produce a drug called “Fulimucil mucolitico”. My friends instructed me to mix the powdery substance with water and drink it three times daily, after meals of course. As I fished for my money, I clarified once again.

“So this will help a heavy chest of mucous filled lungs?”

More Italian I didn’t understand.

Then nodding and a simple, “Yes, it will expel.”

I paid seven euros then went in search of a chaser to down the liquid cure. I succumbed to my pathetic state and bought a Coke. “Stupid American”, I thought, as I waited for the bar attendant to take my change for the drink. I was chiding myself on the fact that upon arriving in Italy, I had decided to give up this unnatural beverage. I planned to return to the States with a new habit of drinking aqua over carbonated sugar.

As I gulped the Coke after sipping the orange colored expectorant, I thanked my friends for helping me while apologizing for feeling so bad during their visit. I soon went to the dorm room and put myself to bed.

Though I wanted to curl up in my comfortable bed with soft sheets and gaze at graffiti free walls, I began to feel safe again. I may not understand medicine in this language but I do understand the vulnerability of needing help and the power of friendship, which needs no translation.

Joe Cocker’s With a Little Help From My Friends

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wG6Cgmgn5U&feature=related