Sita has been preparing Faro to identify Antananarivo as a city that is in Madagascar. This is how I am greeted each time I come home: “Oma, how was [Ulan Bataar, Kinshasa, Ouagadougou, Antananarivo]] followed by our question, “where is [Ulan Bataar, Kinshasa, Ouagadougou and now Antananarivo]?” followed by his answers: “Mongolia, Congo, Burkina, Madagascar.” The neural pathways connecting one name with another seem firmly established in his growing brain – of course we have no idea what thoughts accompany these connections other than with his oma showing up again on Facetime or in real life.
This time, after arriving at Logan we went to the doctor’s office rather than the hospital. I suppose this can be considered progress. I am being checked for whooping cough and received another basketful of medicines to put an end to my persistent cough and sinus problems. I am on the mend but not out of the woods.
My nurse practitioner carried a face mask, so did I. She told me to continue wearing the mask on all future flights, no matter how uncomfortable the mask is. It’s better than getting sick, no?
My next trip is just around the corner, on Saturday with Air France again. Since my respiratory problems only seem to happen when I fly AF I am beginning to wonder whether it is because they don’t clean their air filters often enough. And so I am dreading this flight. I will be masked.
Sylvia's Journal 
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