Illness in Venice, a memoir

I counted back in my blog to the first mention of my unfortunate illness abroad. It was eight entries ago, including this one. As the posts have progressed, so too, has the starring role of said illness in the plot. Alas. It's true. It is the pushy, nagging star of the trip, for now. Just for today. I was up most of the night, accompanied by the cough and its insipid friend sore throat. So when morning came, spirits were low. Our new flat has shutters on the windows because without them, tourists would be able to look in from street level and see me in my Snoopy sheet bed, surrounded by medicine and tissue, coughing like it's my job. Pictures would be taken with selfie sticks by Australians hoping to get a shot with the biggest attraction on Via de Canareggio (sorry Australians). The point is that in this dark flat, it's impossible to know the time, day or night, without checking a device, which is what I did at 10:30 in the morning. Both Alex and I were parched, neglecting to pick up some water before holing up in the place yesterday, and still, in our wretched conditions (okay, I can't speak for Alex but he seemed a bit wretched with the leg dangling from his torso all pained and angry), it took us until noon before we headed out in search of water and food. 

It was lovely outside, which was mildly dissociative for us, given our condition. People smiled, ate cheerfully, argued pleasantly, force-fed kids. Beautiful day. We ate and gained strength, downing two liters of water in less than 10 minutes and adding Fanta on top of it. As refreshed as we were going to get, our mission for the day was a simple one. I wanted to see this cool little book shop I found on Trip Advisor that had staircases made out of books and a gondola in the center of the shop. We decided to take a classic Venetian meander and strolled the streets, admiring the beauty of the city. We did, however, have to stop frequently due to the leg of doom. One of these respites was had at a lovely little canal bridge next to the oddest shop, closed on Saturday. It sold a large amount of emoji-themed pillows and also baby bibs, according to its window displays. It was a lovely respite and our talk was upbeat, about music and movies. 

Later, while still searching for the bookshop, our spirits dimmed with pain and sickness. In a small church, where some parishioners were chanting throughout our stay, the talk turned to mental illness, its demands, how it dulls the pleasure of things and how it affects the process of becoming an adult. We also discussed how parents, specifically Rob and me, can alter the path of their kids with their own garbage. Of course this is true for any parents' relationship with their child. In our family, Alex had much to overcome. And this trip has been such a painful gift to explore these topics in a way that would have been avoided at home. This trip is therapy for both of us. 

So as most excitedly anticipated things go, the bookstore was found and it was terrible. Sure it had the really cool book steps, the gondola, the amazing array of items for sale, but it was all ruined by the massive tourist swarm that surrounded it. Not many other touristy venues were in the area, so it was a huge disappointment to see the clogged store, its long an narrow main aisle packed with people, come into view from around the corner. It's people like me, who read Trip Advisor, comment on these little places, post incredible pictures, that ruin the very places that are so magical. We were in and out in 2 minutes, having snapped one picture. Run away.

Afterwards, we stopped at a strange culturally confused Mexican (??) restaurant that playe reggae music. We drank Fanta. It's what we do. We found a vaporetto stop. We got on, rode one stop, got off, hung out at Fondamente Nove for 15 minutes, realized we needed to go home after we acknowledged that our batteries were dying, and then finally made it back to the dark flat. I stocked up on food items and lots of water. Alex went to rest his leg. And from 5:50 on, we just stayed in for the night. Miraculously, as the evening wore on (and more drugs were introduced) I began to feel better. My Dante's Inferno of a throat felt almost normal, allowing me to eat a sandwich. My cough lessened greatly. I was hydrated and sleepy. And I slept like it was my job.