There are some parts of the trip here that I would gleefully trade away for a day or two at home, but none as much as October 27 and 28th. October 27th began as a completely normal day, but that’s how days are supposed to begin before all hell breaks loose. I returned home after a day of taking midterms and took a nap. When I woke up, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I knew I was sick, but I had to finish reading a book for one of my classes and write a paper on it. This I knew was not a feat I could accomplish under heavy doses of medication. Therefore, I decided to push through and finish the paper and then fall asleep.
The next morning was even worse, I woke up, tried to force down some breakfast and in my feverish stupor attempted to go to school. Thankfully my host mom was awake and able to tell me to go back to bed. I slept until four that evening before waking up and realizing I needed antibiotics and badly. I called my study abroad office and they set up an appointment for me that I needed to leave for almost immediately. Stupid, fever infested me figured I could handle walking to the metro and then finding the hospital. After I got off the metro to switch lines, I had to sit down and put my head between my knees to avoid passing out in front of a bunch of random strangers halfway to my destination. I then regained strength and vision and was able to gingerly pick my way to the next line I needed to be on. At this point, all I could do was pray.
I finally got off at the metro stop by the hospital, and a 5 minute walk to the hospital ended up taking 20 because I got so turned around. I collapsed into a chair in the international office, heard the sweet sound of the English language, and I knew I had made it. Doctor #1 immediately diagnosed me with strep and sent me off to get meds. Little did I know this was only the beginning.
I woke up the next morning running a fever of 103. I took a second dose of meds and fell back asleep only to wake up again still running a high fever of 101. Realizing the meds I was taking were not strong enough, back to the hospital I went. This time I got to see a general doctor instead of one who spoke English. Doctor #2, affectionately known as my hero, immediately gave me a shot because my tonsils were so swollen I had trouble breathing and he prescribed me the good stuff. Now taking three different types of medication, I finally felt back to my old self, but those two days were a blur of taking whatever medicine I was given, drinking something, and going back to sleep.
Moral of the story, if ever sick abroad, take a taxi to the hospital.
The next morning was even worse, I woke up, tried to force down some breakfast and in my feverish stupor attempted to go to school. Thankfully my host mom was awake and able to tell me to go back to bed. I slept until four that evening before waking up and realizing I needed antibiotics and badly. I called my study abroad office and they set up an appointment for me that I needed to leave for almost immediately. Stupid, fever infested me figured I could handle walking to the metro and then finding the hospital. After I got off the metro to switch lines, I had to sit down and put my head between my knees to avoid passing out in front of a bunch of random strangers halfway to my destination. I then regained strength and vision and was able to gingerly pick my way to the next line I needed to be on. At this point, all I could do was pray.
I finally got off at the metro stop by the hospital, and a 5 minute walk to the hospital ended up taking 20 because I got so turned around. I collapsed into a chair in the international office, heard the sweet sound of the English language, and I knew I had made it. Doctor #1 immediately diagnosed me with strep and sent me off to get meds. Little did I know this was only the beginning.
I woke up the next morning running a fever of 103. I took a second dose of meds and fell back asleep only to wake up again still running a high fever of 101. Realizing the meds I was taking were not strong enough, back to the hospital I went. This time I got to see a general doctor instead of one who spoke English. Doctor #2, affectionately known as my hero, immediately gave me a shot because my tonsils were so swollen I had trouble breathing and he prescribed me the good stuff. Now taking three different types of medication, I finally felt back to my old self, but those two days were a blur of taking whatever medicine I was given, drinking something, and going back to sleep.
Moral of the story, if ever sick abroad, take a taxi to the hospital.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario