Case #1: Jordan
Hiking through the gorgeous, sandstone canyon that is Petra, I became ill. Very ill. Doubled over after climbing approximately 700 steps to the High Place of Sacrifice, I ran from the altar, past the obelisks dedicated to the gods of strength and fertility, and found my own altar where I left a very generous sacrifice. Unsure if I was ill from the "authentic" dinner the night before, or the scorching heat in the canyons of Petra, my body continued to expel demons along the way.
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| The High Place of Sacrifice |
Miraculously, I made it down from the High Place of Sacrifice, and collapsed on the floor of the cool, cave-like entrance to the restrooms, also carved out of sandstone. I visited the toilet numerous times, and resumed my spot on the floor after each visit.
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| The climb to the High Place of Sacrifice |
After watching me go back and forth and writhe on the ground, the restroom attendant inquired if I might want an ambulance. "YES!" I cried out. I noted the look of surprise on my husband's face as the words "No" came out of his mouth at the same time. Too late. The attendant radioed his guy, and moments later, an ambulance arrived outside the cave entrance. Relieved that I wouldn't have to hike the 1.5 miles out of Petra, I was laid out in the back of the ambulance, my husband at my side.
"Can you drop us at our hotel?" he asked.
"No, no, hospital."
"Oh, we don't need to go to the hospital, she'll be fine."
"No, hospital."
Traveling by ambulance on the road, I lost my chance for one last glimpse of this on the hike out:
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| The Treasury |
The doctor greeted me and insisted that I required a shot. And some Immodium. After a visit to the restroom in the hospital, I concluded that I didn't want anyone in the building doing anything to me. I politely informed the doctor that I didn't need a shot, and I had my own Immodium thank you. That out of the way, he spent the next 30 minutes requesting that we help him come to the United States, and seeking names and references of other doctors or hospitals who might sponsor him. Somehow we got in touch with our driver, whose arrival interrupted this interrogation. And so ended this escapade.
Case #2: Indonesia
On the ferry from Medan to Jakarta (You can read about it here!), I noticed that the mosquito bites on my legs kept getting infected. Or so I thought. I was also recovering from a nasty case of pink eye. I had spots that were red and sore to the touch, and I wondered how I kept getting new bites while riding on a ferry.
In Jakarta, I managed to find work teaching English and housing with some fellow English teachers from Australia. At dinner one night, roommate Eve noticed one of my spots, and freaked out. "You know those things can turn into tropical ulcers here. You need to get to the doctor!" She gave me the name of a doctor who spoke English, and I managed to weave my way through the streets to locate him.
He took one look at my legs and started laughing. "What's so funny?" I thought.
"Oh, that is a staph infection. It won't go away without medicine." I was still waiting to find out what might be funny about this. Turns out this was just his SOP. He told me what to buy (no money changed hands), and I set out to find the apotik. Apparently I didn't need a prescription. I walked up to the counter and showed the clerk the name of the medicine on a little scrap of paper. He produced a small tube of clear gel that cost but a few pennies, and I was on my way.
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| Typical pharmacy in Indonesia |
I don't know what was in that little tube, but it cured my staph infection. I brought it home with me and continued to use it on any little cut or scrape that started to look red and puffy for the next seven years. It was a sad day when I could no longer squeeze anything else out of that tube.
I know we are all unsure of where our healthcare system will take us, but I for one am grateful for the doctors here and around the world, working in their own systems, who helped me along my way.
