The worth of water

I flunked my medical exam for immigration.

It’s been 35 degrees Celsius (95 degrees Fahrenheit) the last few days. For me, that’s “I wouldn’t want to sport in the paddock (play cricket out in the blazing sun) all day”, but I wouldn’t want to do that in any kind of weather. It seems like I’m cold almost all the time, so when it gets toasty out, you don’t hear me complaining (about the heat anyway).

The water here tastes horrible. Someone told me the draught has lowered the water table to the point that we’re drinking silt. Ewe and blech. I tried seeping chamomile tea and adding Splenda, but now my brain just reads “Oh, she’s trying to pull the old Bad Water + Chamomile + Splenda trick again”. So I just don’t drink much.

Yesterday: (1) instant coffee, (1) vanilla milkshake, (1) raspberry Slushie and (1) Coke. That’s literally 2000 calories in sugar and apparently didn’t get me any credit for hydration; when the immigration health people sent me in the restroom with the little sample cup, I could tell immediately that my very small amount of very dark orange urine was going to be an issue somehow.

They said I have moderate levels of protein in my urine and that it’s for my own good that my application is being held until I go see a specialist and have a mammoth blood work up to make sure my kidneys are functioning. Had I only had trace or nil levels, they might have negotiated with me.

No amount of badgering was going to convince them to let me drink some water and retake the test. In fact, I was so agitated (exacerbated by the grumpiness that comes with dehydration perhaps?) that the doctor started ticking off some points on my mental health section and even called me “anxious”. I was NOT “anxious”, just mad. Tom explained that this was my usual state and that I am not a public risk (though he whispered that I am somewhat of an immigration liability). I sulked.

I’m forcing fluids like a banshee now….studying for tomorrow’s urinalysis at the clinic for remedial hydrators I have to go to. In the midst of my pity (potty?) party, I forgot to congratulate Tom on his perfect pee. Way to go, Precious!