I’m pretty sure it’s not the flu. But I’m basing that on the fact that I didn’t get that horrid achy feeling of “being hit by a truck” where it hurts to even blink.
Whatever it is, I have quite been sick since Sunday.
Naturally, Sunday when I was going on my pre-booked day tour to Quebec City. I figured that after spending three days visiting with my son we’d both welcome a break from each other. It simply never occurred to me that I’d wake up that morning with a raging sore throat.
Just TypiKel.
Best To Just Tell Mom I’m Fine, Thanks
Sore throat or not, I had to get to the bus rendezvous spot by 7:30 a.m. so I choked down some leftover fruit salad from last night’s dinner party (more on that in a later post) and shot out the door.
With each passing hour, the throat got worse. By the time we arrived at our first “rest stop” I was in dire need of some sort of a throat lozenge. As everyone poured off the bus to pee (the bus driver had forbidden us to use the one on the bus) and get some coffee and maybe some of those aircraft-friendly plastic souvenir jugs of maple syrup, I bolted for the candy counter. Thankfully, there were several options and I unwrapped the nearest one while standing in the lineup.
It took the edge off. And yes, I was a good little sickie. I coughed into my elbow and washed my hands at every possible opportunity and kept to myself.
Perhaps you’re thinking “why the hell is she doing this trip when she’s so sick?” Well, I’d last been to Quebec City over 40 years ago with my late father and I needed to rekindle the memories of that trip. I dearly miss Dad and his quirky sense of humor and his magical gift of listening. How could I not go?
That particular trip is special to me because I got to go to his annual Canadian Pediatric Convention with just him and not my mom, sister and brother. My memories are of hanging out with him and his friends and drinking wine in crowded bars and acting as the French translator. The latter was necessary. A west coast boy, Dad’s cringeworthy French consisted of adding an “o” to the end of random English words. As in “a glass of wine-o, please.”
After the convention, we set out on an extraordinary father-daughter road trip to Ottawa. Dad wanted to stop in at farms along the way looking for Canadian antiques; wooden storage trunks in particular. His one rule was that they had to fit inside each other so that he could mail them home.
The trip normally takes about five hours but unfortunately my skills as navigator were somewhat lacking and it took me a good thirty minutes to build up the courage to confess that we were heading east to Halifax, not west to Ottawa. However, once that was sorted, we had a wonderful time. In addition to trunks, we managed to pick up some lovely thick wooden cutlery holders. I still have the one he gave me at the end of the trip. Every time I look at it I can hear Dad asking “Have you any box-o’s for knife-o’s?” and remember him being so impressed when I batted him away and somehow managed to convey to the very confused French-speaking farmers that we weren’t murderers but were simply looking for original cutlery holders.
Anywho, back to Sunday. After an informative 30 minute walk through the scenic city led by a local guide, we hopped back on the bus for a quick trip to the spectacular Montmorency Falls. 98 feet higher than Niagara Falls, they are stunning.
By this time, I could barely swallow and needed something hot, so once back in Quebec City and released for three hours on my own, I made a beeline for the Chateau Frontenac, pictured in the top of this photo. It was where I’d stayed with Dad, those 40 years ago.
The server could not have been kinder. One listen to my croaky voice and she produced a huge mug of hot water, some lemon slices and a pot of the Fairmont’s own honey.
After ordering a bowl of their heavenly French Onion soup and a glass of Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc and being encouraged by the server to sit and rest, I soaked up the spectacular autumnal St. Lawrence view and thought of my dad. I could almost picture him beside me, grinning, and ordering up more medicinal wine.
I left the restaurant an hour later, feeling 100 percent better, despite the fact that I lost all sense of taste halfway through the soup.
Happily I found it again this morning which means I’m on the mend.
In order for my improvement to continue, please don’t tell my Mom to read this post. She’ll think I’m dying. Bless you, I know from experience that it’s best to just tell Mom I’m fine, thanks.
And one more wee thing before I go, a huge thanks to my son for booting my ass and getting me back to the book. Thanks, H. Grandad would be so proud of you. And yes, I’m on it.
Enough about me, I’m curious about you. Would you have been sensible and stayed home tucked up in bed? Have you ever been to Quebec City? Better yet, are you getting the flu shot this year?
16 Responses
I feel I went on that special journey with you. I miss my dad. I’ve had my flu jab. I’ve also has 3 pneumonia jabs in the last two years and they’ve left no trace – disappeared leaving no trace – I’m quite a mystery to my immunologist!
Dads are pretty special, aren’t they, Helen? Good on you for getting the flu jab. I really must get one. As for your pneumonia jabs, what are they? I don’t think we have them here in Canada. I gather it’s unusual for them to disappear but is it bad? Where do they go?
Yes…I would have gone on the trip…sick or not…Yes I went to Quebec City when I was a kid with my family…I remember it very well…I was most impressed with how very Parisian it seemed. And one final Yes…to the Flu Shot…had the full-blown flu once and never again, thank you very much. Love “going” on this trip with you, Kelly. Such fun. 🙂
Thank you for making me feel less of a silly billy, Jeanne, for going. And you’re right, Quebec City is very Parisian, no? It has changed quite a bit from when I was there. Or at least I think it has. My memory was one of lots of wooden platforms everywhere and now there is lots of granite or stone ones instead. However, the lovely curvy roads and quaint shops remain. Good on you for getting the Flu shot. I really should get one, shouldn’t I?
Oh my goodness, I am so sorry to hear that you got sick for the second year in a row ! Hope you recover very quickly !! Yes, I indeed would have gone on the day trip, especially one that brought back such happy memories ! Quebec City is a fantastic place, and not to be missed. I am sure that lovely glass of wine was very therapeutic !
Aw, thanks for remembering, Jane. Yes, I do seem to be cursed. Here’s hoping H doesn’t choose to live there forever … And yes, the glass of wine was very therapeutic! As was the honey. The lovely server handed me a fresh jar just before I left so that I could continue my hot water, lemon and honey treatment. So very kind. Seems to be working and I can once again smell the apples that are still in our front hallway …
Yes, I have been to Quebec City and loved it. I have not gotten the flu just yet and not sure I will. I do sometimes and sometimes I don’t. I probably would have done just as you and gotten up and gone and put my best foot forward. Sounds like you had a memory making time in spite of feeling rough. Hope you are much, much better!
Thanks for your lovely, kind words, Lea. I am much better thank you. I can once again taste what I’m eating which is a wonderful relief! And yes, Quebec City is so worthy of a visit. I made some wonderful new memories that day.
I’m glad you pushed through, Kelly. It seems it was worth it. I’ve been to Quebec City when my parents took me as a child. My grandparents went too and I remember standing next to a soldier who wouldn’t blink at some place where they had the changing of the guard. I need to go back, since I know it is a fabulous place, and now that I know I only need to add an ‘o’ at the end of words to communicate in French, I feel I am ready! So nice to remember our lost loved ones, and you’ve taken me back to a trip with mine. P.S. I had my flu shot.
It was so very worth it to push through, Molly. Indeed-o! And yes, those guards are remarkable. When my two were small we toured Rideau Hall in Ottawa (home of the Governor General, the Queen’s Canadian representative) and it was guarded by similar guards. They were dressed in red and wore the tall bearskin hats in 90 degree heat. Not pleasant, I’m sure. We might have strolled a little too far in the garden as we stumbled upon their little hut where they retreated to when off duty. It was rather shocking to see the soldier stripped down to his undershirt and his hat resting beside him on the bench. Whoopsies. And thanks for the gentle nudge to toddle off and get my flu shot …
Kelly, I’m so glad you went on the tour, in spite of feeling so bad, and that it brought back so many wonderful memories. Thanks for sharing them with us. I’ve only been to Quebec City once but loved it and look forward to returning. I’m glad you’re recovering!
Aw, thank you, Donna. Yes, I am on the mend. It was a real treat to be able to taste my coffee for the first time this morning. And yes, isn’t Quebec City lovely? I enjoyed ambling about and hearing so many different languages. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and felt that I could be in Europe. But maybe that was just my fever talking … Hope you get back there soon.
It sounds like a wonderful adventure, despite your not feeling well. Quebec is on my bucket list of places to visit.
Oh, Kathy, I do hope you can go to Quebec one day. In Quebec City there were several Americans on my tour. The guide was great – he did the tour in both French and English which was really impressive, I thought.
Looks so pretty! I enjoyed hearing about your memories of your dad. I’m with the bus driver, by the way. After spending 48 whirlwind hours on a bus with 6th graders a couple of years ago, you do NOT want anyone to take liberties with the potty and go #2 as the stench just swirls around the interior for the duration of the trip. Yikes-o.
Katy – huge apologies for not replying sooner. And thank you for your service. I’ve done those 48 hour whirlwind bus trips with the tweens, and well, we deserve a medal you and I. There’s really nothing quite like it. I got a reminder this summer when I sat near the toilet on a bus ride from Salzburg to Frankfurt …