Fahrenheit versus Celsius

Have you ever lived in a foreign country where they use different forms of measurements compared to your own? I have experienced this myself and have found it very frustrating at times.

There is a story about a little boy who learnt the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius, and it was a sweet lesson the he would never forget. The story was written by Ernest Hemingway whose father was doctor, and he himself was a volunteer for the Red Cross as an ambulance driver during World War I; in the year 1918 Ernest Hemingway was severely wounded in Italy. After reading his story entitled A DAY’S WAIT, I questioned within myself if this story could have actually taken place.

The boy’s name is Schatz, he is nine, and I’m afraid he is not well; he and his father are Americans living on the continent of Europe. Schatz’s father saw that his son was shaking with a pale face that had dark circles under the eyes, and it looked like it pained him to even walk. His father asked what was wrong and Schatz replied that he had a headache. The father placed his hand on his son’s forehead and felt the heat eliminating from it, a fever; the doctor was called. He took Schatz’s temperature, 102 degrees Fahrenheit; the diagnosis was influenza, commonly known as the flu.

Influenza or the flu can lead to pneumonia where the lungs fill with liquid which can lead to death if not treated; the perfect example of this took place between the years 1918 – 1919. During this time period, an influenza pandemic erupted that "killed more people than the Great War, known today as World War I (WWI), at somewhere between 20 and 40 million people. It has been cited as the most devastating epidemic in recorded world history. More people died of influenza in a single year than in four-years of the Black Death Bubonic Plague from 1347 to 1351. Known as "Spanish Flu" or "La Grippe" the influenza of 1918-1919 was a global disaster."

Schatz’s doctor told him and his father that there was nothing to worry about as long as the temperature did not rise above one hundred and four degrees. Schatz lay very oddly still in his bed and seemed separated from all that was going on around him. You’d think he would fall asleep form being so ill, but he didn’t. Schatz’s father stayed with him for awhile and tried to read a book to him. He looked up at one point and noticed his son ""was looking at the foot of the bed, looking very strangely. "Why don’t you try to sleep? I’ll wake you up for the medicine." "I’d rather stay awake." After awhile he said to me, "You don’t have to stay in here with me, Papa, if it bothers you." "It doesn’t bother me." "No, I mean you don’t have to stay if it’s going to bother you."" Schatz’s father thought to himself that his son’s illness might be causing some lightheadedness; after administering some medication, the father decided to go out with his youthful Irish setter for some quail hunting.

Afterwards, he returned home to find that his son had been refusing to allow anyone to enter into his room. Schatz had been telling the household ""You can’t come in," he said. "You mustn’t get what I have."" His father went to his son to discover that he was in the exact some pose that he had left him in before he went hunting. Schatz’s face was still pale, his cheeks were rosy with fever, his eyes were fixated in front of him at the foot of his bed, and his little body was motionless.

His father took his temperature and told his son that it was okay; there was nothing to concern him about; he could relax. Little Schatz remained in the same position; a little while later he asked his father a question, ""About what time do you think I’m going to die?" he asked. "What?"" asked his father? ""About how long will it be before I die?" "You aren’t going to die. What’s the matter with you?" "Oh, yes, I am. I heard him say a hundred and two." "People don’t die with a fever of one hundred and two. That’s a silly way to talk." "I know they do. At school in France the boys told me you can’t live with forty-four degrees. I’ve got a hundred and two."" Once Schatz found out he had a temperature of 102 he thought he was going to die; his father explained to him that ""It’s like miles and kilometers. You know, like how many kilometers we make when we do seventy miles in the car?" "Oh," he said."" You could see Schatz’s mind begin to relax and along with it his little body.

I have learnt from personal experience that if you travel to or live in a foreign country whose forms of measurements are different than your own, it is very wise to learn and understand that countries measurement structures. You never know how that knowledge could affect your thought process; take little Schatz for instance . . .