Forgive my neglecting the blog last week, but our house continued to fall victim to the string of plagues that has bedeviled us as of late. This time, the plague manifested itself as a virulent attack on Bop's digestive system. Having spent an entire night and the better part of a day with Bop in the bathroom (thank goodness our entire house is tiled), I took Bop to a German pediatrician expecting that she would be given an IV and prescribed something along the lines of phenergan to combat dehydration and nausea. Having visited other German clinics, I should have known that this expectation was delusional.
In my other dealings with the German healthcare system, I've come to learn that the Germans' constitutions must be made of steely stuff and are seldom cosseted with prescription medications. In fact, most apothekes, pharmacies, I've entered are filled with herbal teas, myriad types of vitamins, and spa products; maybe they're on to something?
I've learned that honey in Germany is treated with the same kind of reverence given to Windex in 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding;' an indubitable cure-all. Honey was 'prescribed' (in conjunction with zinc lollipops) for Log's strep throat. Honey was 'prescribed' for Littlest's ear infection (swallowing the viscous honey would help to pop her ears and decrease pain). A tablespoon of honey was 'prescribed' to combat Matty's interminable coughing. Despite this track record, I remained hopeful that Bop would be party to a bona fide, government approved medication.
I was wrong. Though the visit began hopefully enough, I soon heard the doctor saying things like, "Perhaps some tea...." One thing I love about the German language is that singular words (which tend to be inordinately long on their own accord) are often strung together to make up compound words. I offer up the following German word as an example: Donaudampfschiffahrtsgesellschaftskapitän, which in English literally translates as 'Danube steamship company captain' but simply denotes the idea of 'Captain' in German (which is a very specific language). Sometimes, the literal translation of a word into English is a bit off balance. So, when Bop's doctor said something that literally translated as 'mineral cocktail,' I was a bit intrigued. There would be no IV, no anti-nausea medication, only a mineral cocktail.
Upon reading the ingredients in the powdered packets, I came to understand that the medication was sugar water at best. Bop had difficulty drinking the never-fully-dissolved concoction saying that it tasted awful. Trying it myself, it wasn't so much the taste of the drink but the feel of it in the mouth: swallowing the liquid felt like what I imagine licking the inside of a vaseline pot to be like. Bop could only bring herself to lubricate her throat and tummy once.
In addition to her cocktail, the doctor provided me with a stringent diet to combat Bop's nausea and diarrhea. The diet is as follows:
Day One - Zweiback (a dry toast), white sausages, biscotti, bananas, peeled apples, soup with rice, rice, mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and lightly sweetened tea
Days Two and Three - mild milk products like yogurt, small amounts of beef and chicken, lightly steamed vegetables like carrots, spinach, zucchini, and pumpkin, and dried blueberries
Day Four, the final day - a regular diet augmented with lots of tea...and honey
Bop's cocktail. No clever pharmaceutical names, only a straightforward 'stop the diarrhea infection' label.
What everyone else did while Mama disinfected the house!
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