Immunity must be earned

Of all the adjustments that need to be made when a family moves to a new country - new school, new job, new friends, new language, new bottle shop - the real challenge it seems, the one that truly sorts the experienced ex-pats from the wannabe's like me, is dealing with new pathogens. The need to adjust immune systems must surely be one of the most overlooked requirements in the grand scheme of an international move.

Ned Nederlander started the ball rolling; he came down with a man-cold a week or two after we arrived. I showed my usual level of sympathy for such ailments; I handed him a box of tissues and went outside with my guide book to find a new museum and a nice cafe.

A few weeks later, Grote Jongen found a cough-inducing pathogen somewhere on a snow-covered mountain in Austria.  While that pathogen almost required me to give up a day's skiing, I managed to convince him that the best remedy for a high temperature and a constantly convulsing chest was "just a couple more runs".  The following day the skiing endorphin rush that had caused my indifference had subsided, replaced by the more familiar maternal guilt. In grave anticipation of burst eardrums on our return flight to the Lowlands,  I provided a constant supply of sweets for him to suck throughout the descent, reasoning that dental treatment would be easier to access and afford than a lifetime supply of hearing aids and Auslan lessons.

However, further immune system adjustments were required, with Kleine Jongen succumbing to the same pathogen a few days later. We braced ourselves for our first European asthma attack, but it didn't eventuate and we notched up another immune adjustment with few significant consequences.

Not one to be out-illed by his sons, Ned required further immunity adjustment a week or so later. Fortunately, this adjustment provided an unexpected financial windfall. Ned, by nature a cautious soul, and scarred as he is by bitter experiences backpacking in dodgy destinations during his youth, has a habit of putting valuables in "safe" places. Unfortunately, these "safe places" are often eminently forgettable, such that our family has been known to spend a couple of days searching for Ned's laptop after we return from holidays, only to find it at the bottom of the washing basket the following Sunday. Whole weeks can go by before his treasured watch emerges from inside the blue sock at the back of the top shelf of the pantry. And so it was that in September 2011, during our initial trip to the Lowlands, Ned decided that his Australian valuables needed to be given his special security treatment.  Sadly, he was unable to recall their precise location when we returned to Australia, and we reluctantly accepted their loss.  However, during his recent immunity-adjustment, while peering forlornly into an empty packet of cold and flu lozenges, Ned suddenly let out a shriek of delight before sheepishly extracting $AU180, along with a Sydney Travel Ten, a Rabobank Sydney security pass and an annual membership card for the salubrious Gladesville Sporties Bowling Club. What could I do but shake my head, pick up my guide book and head out in search of a new museum and a nice cafe?


Alas, even more immunity adjustment proved to be necessary; I discovered Kleine Jongen once again prostrate on the lounge a day or two later.  "Ah, what you need is an outing", I pronounced. "On your bike,  we're off to the zoo". Sadly, that treatment proved undeniably ineffective, as after several hours of bravely feigning interest in the bears, sloths and sea-lions of Amsterdam, he returned to the domestic lounge and slept for the best part of 18 hours.  Meanwhile I was forced to admit that mothers don't always know best. My punishment was to guide a sweating, shivering, growling, prowling, barking, vomiting child through a further immunity adjustment for the next six days.

On the seventh day I rested, only to be roused by the school, phoning to say that Grote Jongen had "almost" passed out in class with a temperature of 39 degrees. "Thanks for letting me know" I said, momentarily looking up from my guidebook. There was a pause before the school nurse delicately suggested I should come and collect him. "But didn't you say "almost" passed out?" I enquired. " He didn't actually collapse, did he???"

"39 degrees", she responded firmly. "We'll see you soon".  I put down the guidebook and dutifully collected him. I then sat at home with him for the next seven days, wistfully watching spring emerge outside my window, occasionally mopping his brow and cleaning up his faux-vomits (brotherly competiveness never being too far from the surface in this family), while idly planning post-immunity-adjustment outings.  During that time we made a trip to the doctor, the pathologist and the pharmacist, none of which are recommended in my preferred guidebook.

The longed-for day finally arrived when everyone in the family was sufficently immunity-adjusted to leave me to my tourist ambitions.  Unfortunately that coincided with the first of not one, but TWO scheduled pupil-free days for Kleine Jongen. "What shall we do?", I asked on the morning of day one, in an unconvincing display of selflessness. 

" I just want to watch a DVD", he said.

"On your bike", I said, picking up the guidebook, and we walked out the door.