• this world is not my home

I once had to go to the hospital in Buenos Aires, Argentina because of a severe strep infection. I had a massive fever, pain, and more white (infected) patches in my throat than red ones. I was staying at a hotel and somehow, in my limited Spanish, communicated to the desk staff that I needed a doctor. They called one to make a house call (hotel call?).

I went down to the lobby, and in my sick, feverish dementia, proceeded to ask the concierge if he was the doctor. He got me seated, found the doctor, and they escorted me to the hospital. I barely knew where I was or what I was doing. Thankfully, everyone was helpful and their treatment was extremely effective.

Even so, it was scary. I didn't know what was going on, how to communicate my needs, or even what would happen.

I've lived a similar experience, this time with severe food poisoning, shared with my then-eight-months-pregnant wife in a hotel in southern Spain. Our Spanish was better, but we were miserable and it was one of the most horrible travel experiences ever. The doctor was convinced we didn't understand what we were being told, so instead of finding new ways to communicate the information, she just talked louder and louder. I was too sick to respond, but I would have loved to say, "I'm stupid, not deaf." Okay, in retrospect, that part was funny.

My son was hospitalized in Morocco once. My wife had two babies there as well. The second was far easier since we could speak the language, but the first was terrifying.

What are your stories?

Thankfully I've never had to go to the hospital in a different culture, but being sick enough where you question going is worse enough. 

A couple of days ago, I was taken over by heat stroke.  It was a very warm day, and I noticed that every one around me was sweating (and not just a little...).  I wasn't sweating at all.  That's when I realized that I'm in for a long couple of days. 

I asked my mentor if he could take me home, and thankfully he was going home anyways.  When I got home, I laid down and everything from then on (about 12 hours worth) is one giant blur.  I remember my wife sprinkling ice cold water on me while I was laying in front of a fan.  I remember drinking salt with a little water in it.  I remember talking about monkeys.  And I remember the attitude of the people around me. 

If I had to say just one thing, I would say that being sick in an unfamiliar environment is scary.  The positive attitudes of the people around me was the one thing that was positive in my life at the time.  Well, at least surface level things.  So whenever I'm around someone who is sick in an unfamiliar environment, I can remember what helped me when I was in their place and how it made me feel.

Have you ever been sick in a place where the plumbing makes it difficult for you? I was on a trip once and got diarrhea in a place where the only toilet available was a "squatty potty" or "Turkish toilet."




I coined the term "squatty-squirty"... 

I wouldn't consider this being sick in a new or different culture...but it makes for a good story.

My mom, my brother, and I were taking the Amtrak from Kansas to Arizona one summer day.  The day before we left, my brother and I decided to play some tennis.  It was very hot and humid (about 100 degrees and 85% humidity).  I, being the smart one, brought a Mountain Dew instead of water to rehydrate myself.  Needless to say, I had no water left in me, and had heat stroke.  I really wanted to go to AZ, so I toughed through the 7 hour car ride from Des Moines, to Kansas. 

So now we're on the train, I'm incredibly sick.  We just got to Albuquerque, NM.  The stop is about 45 minutes long and all of a sudden...I feel it coming.  Yes, it was diarrhea.  I ran down the stairs, past the smoking compartment, and into the bathroom.  When I finished I went to flush it...nothing.  Oh, no!  That's when I vaguely remembered the conductor mentioning that the toilets don't flush when the train is stopped.  So needless to say, I stayed in the bathroom until the train started moving again...for half an hour. 

There's nothing worse then sitting in a bathroom where you just had diarrhea, next to a smoking compartment for half an hour.  I just can't get behind that...

I also got sick once in Mexico, but not because of the food. I was deep sea fishing and got so seasick that I kept looking at the shore and thinking, "If I jump now, I can make it." I even thought this when we were 6 or 7 miles out. Then, it got worse and I was hanging over the side the rest of the trip home, alternately scared that I would die, or that I would live and have to endure the pain.

I spent the next two days laying on the beach with all the muscles in my sides and abdomen so sore from throwing up repeatedly that I felt like everything was bruised. I just laid there, ate food that old women sold to me out of ice chests that was made at their homes, and drank coke. Actually, that part wasn't bad at all, plus, I had a beautiful girl with me while all the guys were fishing...all in all, it worked out to my advantage.

I couldn't imagine the thought process that entered your head when you wanted to jump...