Ran into a neighbor in the elevator the other day.
"How are things up on the fifth floor?" I asked.
"It smells of marijuana," my neighbor said.
I knew she had new neighbors, so I asked if it was because of them.
"The whole floor smells of marijuana," she said. "And I don't think they all have cancer."
The other day I received a message from the cartoonist I met a number of years ago in St. Petersburg:
"We moved to Montenegro in March, right after Putin attacked Ukraine. Everything is not easy, but we are alive and well, this is the main thing. Propaganda lessons have now been introduced in Russian schools, we took our son away from this sad experience."
I don’t run into many famous people – clearly, we inhabit different realms – and when I do I tend to leave them alone, not wanting to interfere with their privacy. But lately I’ve been more bold. Back in July, eating dinner in D.C., I spotted Bill Kristol enter the restaurant and take a table not far from ours. As we got up to leave I walked over – his meal had not yet arrived – and introduced myself as an occasional reviewer for his now defunct magazine The Weekly Standard. (An old college friend had become the literary editor and sometimes gave me travel books to review.) He was very gracious – he stood up to receive me – but he didn’t remember my byline.
Then last month in Warsaw I was sitting in the lobby of the Marriott hotel, waiting for a friend, when I saw a young woman standing in the check in line with a large red Wilson tennis bag strapped to her back. It was not Iga Świątek, who had recently won the U.S. Open; this was her hometown so there would be no reason for her to stay in a hotel. But I wasn’t sure who it was. Then as she turned and headed toward the elevator I recognized her as Shelby Rogers. I immediately got up and followed after her to the elevator. Most players, including Świątek, I would have let go, but I had something I wanted to say to Shelby Rogers.
“Excuse me,” I said, “are you Shelby Rogers?”
“Yes,” she said. She was waiting for the elevator and looked surprised but not unpleasantly so. I told her I had become a big fan of hers after last year’s U.S. Open when she beat Ash Barty and then, during the on-court interview after the match, explaining how she had done it, she said something about just fighting for every point. Immediately she stopped herself and said, “That’s such a cliché. I’m sorry.” It was the first time I had heard an athlete apologize for using a cliché.
Anyway, I told her how much I appreciated her self-editing, adding that I was a writer. We chatted a bit – she was as friendly as she appears on TV – and I learned that her coach was Polish and that she was headed to a tournament in Estonia. Then the elevator arrived and we said goodbye.
The doctor who saw me at Urgent Care prescribed some cough medicine and nasal spray. Since my symptoms weren't that bad, I let both sit on the counter. But whenever I'd cough, Hania would ask if I'd taken my cough medicine and I'd sheepishly answer her no. So the other evening I took my first dose, swallowing a pill rather than a syrup. Within 15 minutes I experienced a fierce cough attack that lasted several hours.
Last night I tried the nasal spray. It gave me a sore throat.
How does the body work? Going into our last weekend in Poland I developed a slight cough. We decided to forego the film we had bought tickets to see, Jerzy Skolimowski’s IO (in English, EO). But before heading home we had dinner in the cinema restaurant, the excellent Iluzjon Café Bar. I had the spicy Thai soup with a large glass of hot tea studded with ginger, cloves and other spices. The next morning, Saturday, I felt fine and my cough had disappeared. Hania and I walked to the metro – in a crisp 57 degrees – and spent the day shopping and seeing friends. Despite the chill, the streets were crowded with people, even in the evening, as we took our last stroll for a while down Nowy Świat.
Sunday we met our friend Marcin at the food court in Norblin, a former cutlery factory that had been turned into an indoor-outdoor mall. The Georgian dumplings looked tempting but, out of thoughts for my health, and a feeling of solidarity, I went for the Ukrainian borscht. Then we headed home to pack.
Monday, sitting on the plane, I felt a little off. Tuesday, Hania and I both awoke with blossoming colds. She went to Urgent Care, where she tested positive for COVID. I went a few hours later and tested negative. Though we both had similar symptoms – congestion and cough.
This morning I returned to Urgent Care because, unlike Hania, I’ve noticed no improvement in my condition. This time I tested negative for COVID and the flu. So I wonder if this prolongation of what the doctor diagnosed as a sinus infection is merely payback from my body for holding everything off until I got back from Poland.
A doctor who refuses to see patients who are sick - a situation we have recently come across - is like a restaurant closing its doors to people who are hungry.