“Go to the doctor’s,” she says.

“I’d rather just stay in bed and sleep.”

“No, you have to go,” she insists. “Besides, it’s much cheaper to see the doctor than buy over-the-counter drugs.”

“Okay, okay.” She has a point. So I crawl out of the futon, shower, then stagger in muted delirium to my doctor’s clinic.

Because it’s a Saturday, the clinic is somewhat busier than usual. Several men are having their physicals. Two women in the waiting room look as sick as I feel. After about fifteen minutes, I’m summoned to the doctor’s room. When I tell her what my symptoms are—achy body, high fever, headache, fatigue—she recommends the old tickle the brain with a twig up nostril. What can I do but submit? But then the test turns out negative meaning I was tortured for the nurse’s kicks alone. Another chat with my doctor; we decide which meds I want; and then I return to the waiting room until the receptionist can ring me up. (This being Japan, of course, it comes to only $15.)

Checking my watch, I see I haven’t got enough time to pick up the meds from the pharmacy downstairs before work starts, so I head home instead.

Once home I ask my wife if she can pick up the meds for me.

“Sure.”

“Fantastic. I appreciate it.”

An hour later, I ask if she got the meds.

“I can’t go out with my face looking like this.”

Ugh.

Another 90 minutes later, I ask again if she picked up my medicine.

“Not yet.”

Four hours later, my wife returns.

“Got the meds,” I asked.

“No. All the pharmacies were closed.”

Argh! Why the hell did you insist upon my going to the doctor’s then?!?! 

So, another night of mediocre, lightweight drugstore pills for me. Maybe some negi (green onions) will do the trick?