I left home for work this morning without my set of keys. Cristina needed them, her set being with the building’s handy-man and as today she would be working from home she would need keys to come and go for various reasons. I called her late afternoon to touch base and work out how and when we could hook up. She answered me from the doctor’s; Inês had been running a bit of a fever when she picked her up from crèche and by all accounts she was suffering from a lingering ear infection that would need antibiotics. We arranged to meet at the café next to our’s, a place run by a lovely Chinese family who always ask me after Inês whenever I drop in.
It was past seven when I arrived. I ordered a beer and had time to play a round of backgammon with an Israeli before Cristina and Inês appeared. Cristina rushed off to the bathroom and I found myself cradling Inês and speaking to the Chinese lady, telling her how Inês had been running a fever. She took her hand, pressed her thumb into Inês’ palm for a moment before appearing to take her pulse for a few seconds. She smiled benignly at me: “yes, she appears to have a fever.”
My mind suddenly went high-speed down a rabbit-hole, marvelling at the infinite subtleties of traditional Chinese medicine and – once I returned, after a second or two – I felt compelled to tell her so. Had she always confirmed fever in her children in the same way? Mention fever here in the Western World – I went on to add – and the first thing that happens is a hand rushing up to the forehead.
“Oh no…we do that too. I was just being polite.”
oliverhuntrods 