A Fate Worse than Death
I am on day six now on my struggle with a stomach virus and suffice it to say that these past few days have been the worst of my life. Bar. None. It all started last Thursday when I had a fairly weak headache throughout the day. But I felt well enough to go to class and even get a haircut right after (my last haircut was in September in Singapore). I didn't feel well enough though to go and have my nightly round of tap
as and beers with my friend Lucy because I thought of taking a break tonight so I won't miss going out Friday night. And so I went back to the dorm and slept early for once but little did I know that this little bugbear of a headache would turn out to be The Queen Bitch of the Universe.
Friday morning I woke up neuseas, with a low fever, and a sharp headache. It felt like a hangover but unfairly without the copious drinking of alcohol the night before. I was immobilized in bed the whole morning. I called Sakinah before taking my lunch and told her I wasn't feeling well. She asked me if I'd be alright. Are you kidding me, I said, I come from the Philippines. I've fought and made a bitch out of every kind of bacterium, virus, fungus, and protozoan known to man while growing up. Sakinah was going to Asturias on the northern tip of Spain with her aunt for the weekend. It still amazes me that she has uncles, aunts, and cousins all over Spain. Coming back from lunch, I quashed all my intentions of going to class by taking a nap. When I woke up, I felt like, in a word, shit. My fever turned up a notch and the headache wasn't as sharp as before because of the fucking anvil which I felt was on top of my head. I thought how I could be so stupid to go to a foreign land and not bring any medicine. Nevertheless, I decided go down to the cafeteria to have some yogurt and fruit for my dinner. As my luck would have it, I sat with the Japanese guys and when they found out that I wasn't feeling well, one of them gave me his leftover pills from when he got sick. Sweet, I said. I'll just take these meds and I'll be up and about this weekend. Surely, it can't get any worse than this. Ah, famous last words.
The fact that it was sunny on that Saturday morning when I awoke from a fitful sleep was the only positive in my predicament. I didn't feel any better as the potency of the pills I was taking only made an appearance with the very first one I took. I could have very well been taking pieces of snot for medicine. I spent the whole morning alternating between lying in bed and sitting at my desk watching the The Daily Show on the Internet. My headaches would get really bad from just watching the small screen that tears would flow from my eyes. However, I thought I felt well enough to have lunch and this turned out to be my last full meal -- even counting up to today. The afternoon was every bit as painful as the morning but the evening proved to be much worse. I only ate a fourth of an apple for my dinner but vomited the meager portions soon after. When I got up at one in the morning to take one of the pills, I vomited it too. This was probably one of the lowest points of my life. I couldn't sleep. I was hungry. I was cold. And I was a million miles away from home.
On Sunday morning, I decided to go to the hospital to find out what the fuck was wrong with me. I had no desire to go through the same ordeal such as the one I had last night. I called my friend Lucy to see if she could help me to go to the hospital. However, she was still asleep and so I decided to go by myself. Just dressing up was intolerable. It took me more than an hour for me to get ready because I was moving in slow-motion. I took about four bites of the apple from last night and chewed gum afterwards hoping this meal would stay down. When I got down to the dorm's reception desk, I talked to the administrator and asked for his help to get me a cab. But the guy was just an absolute prince that he said that he'll drive me there himself. And he had a sweet ride himself because he was driving a fucking Range Rover. Of course, it didn't register with me then that what he had for a mode of transport was something which comes from the upper echelon of SUV luxury but rather it was a car-like thing which had two or more wheels and had the capability of taking me to the hospital. When I got to there, I had to go through the routine of signing up and then waiting for my turn to see the doctor. I suppose everyone who goes to the "emergency room" will have to stay put at the waiting room unless he's someone's who's got an arrow through the head or he's holding his testicles wrapped around a bloody handkerchief. The doctor who saw me looked exactly the dad from the sitcom Frasier. It was so uncanny. I told him what was wrong with me and he gave me a quick check-up. Next, he asked me to have my abdomen x-rayed and then come back to him with the results. Whattheheynow? Have my kidneys ruptured and therefore wastes was coming out poisoning my system? How many kidneys do humans have anyway? Has my liver burst? Oh, wait. We can't live more than 24 hours without liver function. Oh, shit. Maybe it's my appendix. Fucking shit. I don't want to have an operation here. The cost alone would ensure my death. When it was turn to get my x-ray, the technician told me in Spanish to take off some items of clothing. She was speaking quite fast that I didn't understand what the hell I was suppose to remove from my person. I was able to comprehend enough that I should take off my belt off and so that was the first thing to go. And then what? I was starting to take my shirts off when the technician came back and said that it wasn't necessary for me to take off anything else. Oh, good of her to clarify since my pants were just about to go next. Right after the x-ray, Lucy called me and I told her I was at the hospital. I was so touched to hear her say that she was on her way to see me. While I was waiting for my turn back at the doctor who looks like Frasier Crane's dad, I looked at x-ray hoping to divine what the future will hold for me. But of course, I didn't even know if I was holding the damn thing upside down. Lucy got to the hospital and asked me why I had to get an x-ray. I said I didn't know but it was for my abdomen. She just said oh no and probably had the same thoughts about my kidneys, liver, and appendix like I did. Finally, it was my turn to see the doctor again and he took all of three seconds to say that the results of the x-ray seemed to be okay. So, he's pinned down the cause of all the shit that I've been feeling. It was a stomach virus which caused acute gastritis. I would have to go on a two-day liquid diet to starve the little bastards. He then prescribed some more meds for me to take. And so Sunday passed very much like Saturday did but the pain was a teeny tiny bit abated by knowing that I wasn't going to die.
Waking up Monday morning was a bit better knowing that I actually slept four hours straight. It was the second and last day of my liquid diet but I didn't mind it so much because I didn't want to do anything at all to induce vomiting. As much as anything, I abhor the myriad of sensations that retching brings. At midday though, I started to feel hunger pangs and decided to try the instant soup packets I got from yesterday. I took two teaspoons of the soup and felt it go down really good. So much so that I decided to ditch the teaspoon and drink off the rim of my mug. Bad idea. As soon as my stomach felt that it was going to digest something, it threw everything back with a big fuck you. And so I was back on my water diet.
Oh Tuesday, glorious Tuesday! The first thing I did was to try and see if I could take anything remotely solid without spewing it out. I took the half eaten apple (the other half I ate in two portions but both which I vomited) and peeled it and nervously took a first and then a second bite. I took a moment to see what the little bastards living in my stomach had to say about my audacity and was ecstatic to find out that the meds I've been taking to eliminate the little shits had been working. Never had a half piece of apple tasted so good to me. I wanted to go to the Chinese buffet restaurant for lunch and eat my ass off but this wouldn't seem to be a good idea knowing that my system was shutdown for two days and probably wouldn't be up to speed to process an onslaught of fried drumsticks, fried noodles, fried pork ribs, and fried rice. And so I just had lunch at the cafeteria enjoying a feast of one peeled apple and a cup of yogurt. Yummy. I called up Sakinah after lunch and she asked me why I didn't tell her that I got really sick. She only found about my trip to the hospital after seeing Lucy at the school yesterday. Sakinah said that she'd visit me tonight and if I wanted anything for her to buy. I told her to just get me apple juice and yogurt. Incidentally, she's moved out of the dorm and into an apartment with two Spanish girls. And so at five minutes to nine, I hear the usual loud banging on my door and I see Sakinah with one huge bag containing a comforter for her new bed on one hand and two bags of groceries on the other. She asked what's the matter with me and if I were going to die. I asked if she had to walk all the way from the store to get to the dorm -- in the cold. She said yes and asked why wouldn't she. I said it wasn't necessary. She said of course it was necessary because I've done the same things for her. Well, the difference is, I wanted to tell her, is that I have feelings for you. After she left, I was on cloud nine. The headaches were gone! I actually felt the way I did last, oh, Wednesday. And there I was watching Dexter on my Mac before going to bed when little pinprick eruptions of headaches started again. Before even finishing watching the episode, my eyes were in tears from the pain. I slept hoping that I'd get a break and maybe get four hours of sleep in. But of course, not.
This morning I got up to see that it was a rainy day. However, showering droplets of cold water be damned! I was going to see a doctor and ask for stronger meds for my headaches. I managed to get ready despite the pulsating headaches making simple body movements seem as hard as synchronized swimming maneuvers. I walked into the rain and was pleasantly surprised that its asshole brother, the wind, was blowing really hard. I mean, c'mon. The winter cold is bad enough but you get the multiplier effect with the wind and rain. This effect drives down the temperature so fast to what it's not supposed to be, not unlike Nicole Kidman pulling down box office numbers. When I mercifully get to the clinic, I see that there a lot of people in there and it was going to be a long wait. From the other side of the waiting room, I saw a lady who looks like Jennifer Aniston but, or maybe because, she still had the 90's "The Rachel" hairstyle. Jesus, I said to myself, does this girl have trouble letting go of the past or what? When it was my turn after waiting for 45 minutes (I'm glad I wasn't there to have my bloodied testicles wrapped in a handkerchief reattached. Well, knock on wood), the doctor had the smooth and suave vibe of Dr. Doug Ross in E.R. but without the supreme advantage of actually looking like George Clooney. I told him I wanted new meds for my headaches but he felt that he should give me an examination first. After checking to see that I wasn't about to keel over and die, he prescribed me new meds. With as much disdain for the cold, wind, and rain walking to the clinic, I went back to the dorm for another feast of green salad and yogurt (it's weird but food doesn't seem to hold that much attraction to me now -- I wonder if I can use the same diet technique to annihilate my attraction to girls I will never get). Barely able to get my sweats on back again, I drink the new meds and come crashing down on the bed to sleep.
And so the moment finds me typing all of these. My headaches are gone. The meds seem to be doing their job. I haven't left the dorm since Friday except for the two times I had to go to the hospital. I hope I'll be well enough tomorrow to go to the Chinese buffet restaurant. Is it too much to ask to be healthy to partake of some MSG?
