I Got the Fever

A couple of years ago, my friends Elinor, Trish*, and I trained for the NYC marathon together. Here is our publicity shot:

Picture doctored by Edwina Hay

They both finished well before I did, and after some confusion and investigation in the medical tent, we discovered Trish had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after collapsing by the baggage trucks.

I was completely jealous.

I had always dreamed of someone rushing me to medical attention in those moments when I felt like I was dying after finishing a race. In response to my pleas of desperation year after year, the surly NYRR ladies usually just stuck pretzels in my face and told me to keep walking.

Trish was rushed away in the luxury of an ambulance, and I hoofed it home on the subway. She was attended to and called "the marathoner" for two days by doctors and nurses, and I was home alone in my apartment watching the latest High School Musical. She got an IV to make her feel whole again, and I was on my couch eating donuts (OK, we'll call it even on that one).

Anyway, I was upset because after one go, I felt she had the full marathon experience. I had failed. I might have had a medal and sore legs, but where was my hospital wristband to prove my worth?

So, when it came to Peace Corps, I didn't want to mess around. I wanted to do it right, and I am here to tell you, "We did it!" I got a tropical disease!

Here it is - the full PC experience of getting hospitalized with dengue.

The Schedule of Events
Days 1-2: High fever, body aches, lower back pain, piercing headache behind the eyes.

It started on a Tuesday with flu-like symptoms and a 104-degree fever**. In class, I asked one of my 90-pound students in Indonesian if she would be able to carry me if I fainted. The aghast look on her face let me know her extracurricular PMR (Red Cross) training had in no way prepared her for anything like this. 

By Wednesday, the Peace Corps medical director advised I needed get some lab work done, so I took a bus with my counterpart to the next city. I had no idea what the results meant, so we showed them to my host brother-in-law who is a nurse.

"Maybe her body is different because she's foreign," he said, implying I should have been prostrate, lifeless on a bed somewhere instead of hand washing my laundry in a tub beside the house in preparation for my undetermined detention in Surabaya (or as my mom likes to call it - "Sarajevo").

So, with some freshly-washed underwear and a car loaded with snacks, we set out on the 5-hour journey from my village to Surabaya, home of the PC Indonesia headquarters, on doctor's orders.

My medical evacuation posse - Ms Olif and Mr Said.

With my lab results on the way to Surabaya. I tried to teach Ms Olif the wonders of car games. I am pretty sure she was just humoring me as she thought there was a slim possibility I might die. Still - good times.

Days 3-4: High fever, body aches, weak, inability to walk the two blocks from the hotel to the PC office, desire only to lie on couches and beds.

By Thursday, I experienced a feeling which can only be likened to the painful transformation Bella silently bore as she became a vampire in Breaking Dawn (sadly, it was not accompanied by talking werewolves). I spent a good part of the morning internally moaning on my Country Director's couch as I awaited another lab visit.

A couple of naps, one trip to a local convenient store to stock up on provisions (chocolate milk and apples), and a positive dengue result later, I was on my way to the hospital and to the bliss that only an IV can bring in moments of complete dehydration. 

I got to lie down instead of sitting in the waiting room. Bule (foreigner) connections. And I began my journey into the world of Indonesian medical terminology! 

My gurney ride to my hospital room. 
Special thanks to Dr. Leonard for obliging my request to photograph the experience. 

Fun fact: I am larger than your average Indonesian. Instead of being able to push the swinging doors open with the edge of the bed, the Peace Corps doctor had to walk ahead of us and manually push the doors as my giant hose beast legs protruded too far over the edge.

My first meal

Beji Bro Jay traveled on a bus through the night to surprise me in the hospital with a McDonald's sundae*** - only to turn right back around and do the trip all over again in order to make it in time for a PC appointment that never actually happened. 

I think he felt his few hours spent viewing the Disney channel were well worth it, though.

Scott also brought me a delicious muffin as seen below!

These random Christian women came to pray over me as Scott and Jay looked on with enjoyment. They were dazzled by our Indonesian language ability. Oddly, I took an abrupt turn for the worse the next day.

Days 5-6: High fever, nausea, occasional collapsing in bathroom.

Taylor and Ms Olif paying a visit.

Tim and Angela bringing me a hamburger and enjoying McDonald's together. 

Days 7-10: Itchy, red rash on torso, legs, and feet. 

I am happy to report that suffering from a terrible rash brought on by a tropical disease is no match for a killer combination of:

• Nickelodeon's Victorious,
• new episodes of 30 Rock and Downton Abbey,
• a couple of live Yankee games 
• as well as fast food delivered by friends. 

Take that, Indo skeeters! 

Out of the hospital and off to celebrate Angela's last night in Indonesia!

Afterword
Having since written this entry, there have been some fun developments in my dengue experience.

1. At the beginning of June, about a month after I left the hospital, the bottoms of my feet began to peel. With alabaster skin like mine, I've had my fair share of sunburns and subsequent peeling, but never on my feet. Sadly, I have no pictures to illustrate, but fellow PCVs can attest to the scene of me scraping the bottoms of my feet into piles of dead flesh before them.

The good news: this made the bottoms of my feet as soft as a baby's bottom. Nature's free pedicure. 

2. The hair shedding started at the beginning of July, so another month out. At press time, it is still going and hasn't shown signs of stopping.

The good news: should I contract alopecia and lose all of my hair, two fellow PCVs have gone on record saying they will shave their heads in solidarity. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. 

*Trish, this is in no way helping our ambiguously gay duo image. We both like boys, people, contrary to what Facebook may have you believe.

**Special thanks to Brianna for saving my life when I didn't have any pulsa to notify anyone of my death spiral...and for keeping me abreast of the daily developments in Josh Hutcherson's life. 

***There is something immediately healing about a McDonald's hot fudge sundae. It's timeless...like gold...like old friends...like that Eddie Rabbitt song "I Love a Rainy Night"...or boy bands.