Trauma: Life and Death in Student Health

I think I may have mentioned in previous posts that I have not felt quite like myself since returning from the land of smiles. I'd have a runny nose for a week, then it would get better, a nasty cough, which would eventually dissipate and sinus pain that I covered with overdoses of generic Sudafed. I even lost my voice at one point, a blessing for my students who thoroughly enjoyed writing instruction via pantomime. My energy waned, dishes piled up and I even (don't read this part mom!) slept on my bed without sheets for one night because I was too tired to properly dress the mattress. For shame!! A normal person would seek treatment, but I have been cursed with a "once you get up and get moving" and "if there isn't blood--you're fine" mentality. [And a slight distrust of western medicine, ie--hospitals are where people go to die (Yes workers of the DMC, I can see your toes curling from here...)]. But when I woke up at four in the morning with mystery pains in my joints, earlobes and hair folicles and snot pushing out through my tear ducts from behind my eyeballs, I knew it was time.

I went to the Student Health Clinic and sat in the sick bay with the rest of the leppers. I couldn't sit still, as everything hurt and I wanted to cry. They called me back, took my temperature--102*--and the girl called me "one sick kid." I would have laughed, because she couldn't have been more than 18, but it would have been too painful. They took me to an exam room, where I quickly shoved two tissues into my nostril and slept while waiting for the doctor. She came in and asked me when and where these hints at death developed. My response, "About a month ago--after my return from Thailand." Sirens went off and the clinician grabbed her belly and stood up. Yeah, she was barely pregnant and I had probably killed her fetus in those ten minutes of diagnosis. Before I knew it, the clinic was reenacting the E.T. "house quarantined under clear plastic/people in full-body protective gear" movie scene. I was whisked to the front of the line of people waiting for blood work (those common whores can wait another minute for their positive clap results), had a few vials of the goo drawn and was whisked to a dark room in the back with a cot and kidney-shaped barf basin and door plaque reading "Detaining Room." But seriously, I DIDN'T FUCKING CARE where the hell I was. They could have put me on the front lawn and I would have been happy. I was so grateful to have that crinkly white protective tissue paper pressed to my cheek--it was like that glorious and protective feeling of the stone-cold bathroom floor on your face you've had too much to drink. (Don't pretend--you KNOW what I'm talking about...) I rocked back and forth in the fetal position and moaned for a good hour while waiting for the results.

They ran my blood for evidence of malaria, the hiv, Dengue fever, pregnancy and other infectious diseases (that last part was not a typo). After nearly four hours of pain and suffering, it was determined that I had a "nasty" sinus infection, amongst other respiratory ailments, that could be cured with forced fluids, bed rest and two weeks of horse pills that came in a bottle so large I've only seen geriatrics with that size. I took a pill right there, drove home, prayed for death, napped on the couch all afternoon and woke up in a sweaty t-shirt. I felt better than I had in weeks!!

The moral of this story is to go to the damned doctor when you're not feeling up to par. My waiting may have caused permanent damage to my sinuses and now I have two prescriptions to battle my illness and one for the side-effects of the primary medicine. You know it's bad when they give you something more to counter-act what you've been given in the first place.