Difficulties Remaining Upright

Later that morning, I awoke feeling weak, but rested. I got up to get some water from the kitchen and halfway there, I began to feel faint and quickly laid down on the couch before the blackness took over. Seeing my state, Mark offered to take me to the doctor, but I politely refused, saying that I was probably just weak from not having eaten and that once I had eaten, I would be fine. When I was feeling better a few minutes later, I went into the kitchen to find something to eat, but nothing looked appealing. Knowing I had to eat something, I made myself some eggs and toast and spent the morning reading email and watching TV.

Later that afternoon, I was in the hallway between my room and the bathroom when I began to feel faint again. This time there was no easily accessible couch, and before I knew it, I went crashing down, my head hitting the tile floor with a loud crack. Mark rushed in to make sure I was okay. From my position on the floor, I reluctantly admitted that I should probably go to see a doctor. He nodded in agreement.

That afternoon, Mark drove me to Dr. Wahab, a Bangladeshi doctor, educated in Germany, who Erica had recommended through the Embassy. When we arrived, there were a few people seated in the waiting room, but the doctor saw me right away. He asked me about my symptoms and my visit to the hospital in India. I relayed my initial illness in Varanassi and the weakness, dehydration and lack of appetite that had persisted for the next few weeks, finishing with the fainting episodes of that morning. He asked if I had gotten the results from the hospital in India and I told him that I had been unable to reach them, but that I would do what I could to get them as soon as possible. He then took some blood for testing and hooked me up to an IV for some rehydration.

When we returned to the apartment, we attempted to contact the hospital in India again, but found that we were still unable to connect to India from the phone in the apartment, nor could we get the Embassy to connect us. I finally go ahold of my brother and asked him to contact the hospital and have them fax the reports to him. I had put him down as an emergency contact and hoped that he would be able to get the reports.

The next day he called me to let me know that he had contacted the hospital and, unable to understand the man on the other end, had an Indian friend at work call to have the results faxed. According to the tests that they performed in India, I was perfectly healthy.

The next few days continued to prove the Indian doctors wrong, as my lethargy and lack of appetite increased and I began to get feverish, first wracked with uncontrollable chills and soon after, burning with fever. After another visit to Dr. Wahab, we learned that I had come down with Typhoid fever. The doctor told me that the strain that I had was not responsive to most of the common anti-biotics and that my options were to receive anti-biotic shots, which were extremely painful, or to receive antibiotics via IV at the Embassy. He recommended the IV anti-biotics, but since he did not have them in stock, he suggested that we see if they would treat me at the Embassy clinic. My other option would be to go to the local hospital, but the doctor strongly recommended against it, to the point of telling me not to go at all if I could help it, because of their lack of safety standards and their poor record for patient recovery. We decided to go with the Embassy.

On the way to the Embassy, I laid down in the back seat of the car and when we arrived, I followed Mark past security, where we were met by a US doctor, who immediately remarked that I looked terrible. Thanking her, I explained my situation and was seated in the examining room before she thought to ask who I was. When I admitted that I was merely a friend of a diplomat, she responded that they were unable to treat me and that I would have to go to the hospital that Dr. Wahab had warned us against. Frustrated to the point of tears, I told her that I was not going to risk my health in a hospital with such poor safety records. I wondered what the point was of being an American citizen if the government refused to treat sick Americans in countries where there was no comparable quality health care. We decided to go back to Dr. Wahab to see what he could do.

When we returned, the doctor told me that he could put me on the oral antibiotics and monitor my progress to see if my condition improved. I agreed and the next few days were a blur of lethargic days and restless, feverish nights. At one point the doctor contacted us to let us know that I had also tested positive for Dengue, the condition I had believed I had at the onset of my symptoms, for which there was no cure. He said that I would just have to let it run its course.

As happy as I was to be spending time with friends I rarely see, my stay in Dhaka post-India, was not exactly quality time and I was anxious to get home where I could walk into a grocery store and find a myriad of things to pique my appetite and a familiar bed surrounded by friends and family. Mark was doing everything he could, from bringing me food back from the American club, to purchasing special requests at the commissary, but I was still reduced to a diet of eggs and applesauce, and unable to force down much else. Because I was so tired, I was also not able to spend much time visiting with my friends. I had not revealed my condition to my parents, not wanting to worry them unnecessarily, but when the Dengue diagnosis came in, I broke down and rationalizing that if they were sick, I would want to know, I called my mother, sobbing and miserable, begging her to medivac me home as soon as she could.

My parents were worried and sympathetic. I eventually agreed that my situation was not dire enough to warrant a medivac, but was still determined to get home. My flight was to leave the coming Tuesday and in my current state, it was obvious that it would not be a good idea to be on that flight, but I refused to postpone it, preferring to wait until the last minute to see how I was feeling. Had I been given the IV antibiotics, postponement would have been inevitable, but because I was on the pills, as long as I was feeling up to it, I would be able to fly.

Two days before my planned departure, I was saddened to find that my condition had not improved and I began to resign myself to the fact that I would have to continue my recovery in Bangladesh. I had planned to fly home in time to watch the Florida/Tennessee College Football game in California with fellow Gators and close friends, as the start of my two week stay at the beach. Now in my current state, my plans were to get back to Atlanta and check into a hospital as soon as I could, but at least I would be home.

Finally, on the morning of my departure, I began to feel somewhat better and I decided to pack just in case. My condition continued to improve over the course of the day and I contacted the doctor who gave me his travel blessing.

That evening, my friends drove me to the airport. Although I was sad to leave them and sorry I had spent the majority of my visit in bed, I was looking forward to getting home and getting better. It had been six months since I had boarded the plane from Atlanta to Bangkok and, now with six months of adventure, memories and experiences behind me, I was ready to come home.