Coat Got Your Tongue?

I got in this morning and the internet wouldn't work on my computer when I plugged it in. Somehow Mitch was wandering around the basement, and my supervisor demanded that he help me...we then had a lengthy team meeting, and when I came back, I had been upgraded to the wireless network! Which he had told me was impossible a month ago. Well anyway, thanks, Mitch.

On the other end of the spectrum, I've been told not to drink chai for awhile, to my dismay. I went to a doctor for the second time this morning for a tongue condition that I discovered on the way over here--basically, my tongue is white. At first, because I didn't know any doctors and am lazy, I took the liberty of diagnosing and treating myself with the help of wikipedia (pharmacies here = no prescriptions). The first time I went to a physician, about two weeks ago, he seemed to think I was doing a good job and added a prescription on top of my regime, which proved ineffective.

This morning, I went to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. His catch phrase: "Do not take irrational medicines!!!!" He was horrified at what I had been doing (including doubling the dosage of the other guy's prescription, oops) and said that our (me and the other doctor) diagnosis was obviously wrong. He said that I have a "tongue coating" and prescribed allergy medications. Maria said I'm being an elitist colonizer by doubting this.

The doctors' office, which another intern told me about, is really quite nice. You go in and there's a swank lobby where you pay ten dollars first. Then they have a pharmacy right there in the lobby, as well as what I believe was a Whole Foods kiosk, where I felt a brownie might cure me. On a similar note, I indulged in a Chicken Maharaja Mac the other day and it was amazing despite the side of shame. Funny though, how a visit to the doctor of ten dollars seems really cheap, yet that still makes health care widely inaccessible to many people.

I'm really glad to have moved. It feels more like I'm in a small city now--vegetable carts right outside the door, a movie theater, many happy children playing in the streets. Two extremely cute little girls in my building always say, "Hi didi!" when they see me. I think that means "aunt," not "grandma"?

It does feel like I'm a squatter though. Pri has been MIA for days. Our apartment is shotgun-style, so there's a long, empty cement cavern before you get to my bright purple room where most of my belongings are hanging from hooks in plastic bags. But chopping vegetables on a kitchen counter instead of squatting over a plate is entirely worth it.