There has been a devastating outbreak of Galloping Death at our house. No fatalities yet, but definitely two casualties. It started on Tuesday with a desperate phone call from R at work - "I'm sick. Can you go to the Pharmacy and get me some medicine?"
Surely this could not pose a problem. I think there is a law in Germany that states there must be at least 4 Pharmacies per square kilometre, or 1 Pharmacy per 10 people, whichever is the lesser figure. You can't go anywhere without tripping over one. Either the German people are very vigilant about their health (or are all hypochondriacs) or there is so much scope in their health system to support that many Pharmacists. I'm tending to lean toward the Hypochondriac Hypothesis at the moment.
I managed to procure some medicine without too many dramas, although I do miss the convenience of buying basic medicines like Panadol/paracetamol and cough syrup at the supermarket.
By Wednesday, R had a full-blown 'man-cold' - complete with an acute chicken soup dependency.
By Saturday, I was sick as well, and the standoff had began.
"Can you get me a glass of water?"
"No, I can't. I'm too sick to move."
"But I'm dying."
After several unsuccessful attempts to train the cats to fetch the necessities of life for us, I relented, and got him a glass of water. He was only moderately dehydrated by this time.
By Sunday, I was feverish and firmly ensconced on the couch with the computer and two furry hot water bottles that purred. R was recovering and had to fetch and carry for me.
R has declared himself fit to return to work, but I'm taking it easy today - just me, the cats and our rather substantial DVD collection.
Oh Happy Day.