Is there a doctor in the house?

Like it or not, you probably have healthcare on your mind after last week's Supreme Court ruling on Obamacare. It got me thinking about my own misadventures with doctors in foreign lands.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

Travel (and lack thereof)

I did most of my adventure travel in my 20s. During that time, I studied in England for a semester, saw a bit of Europe and the USSR during my spring break, and parlayed the end of my semester into a month in Paris in my friend's free-of-charge closet-sized apartment in the 7th arrondissement. Never mind that two of us invited ourselves to come stay, and that it was way too small for one, let alone three of us, but we made it work, albeit with little room to maneuver. I worked in Japan for a year, backpacked and worked my way through Southeast Asia and the South Pacific, took separate trips to Vietnam and Malaysian Borneo, and a trip to Europe for good measure. (note to self for future blog post re: cheap cheap cheap travel to Europe and Vietnam summer 1996 - you too can do this, people!).

The Paris apartment

I was married at 30, and my late 20s/early to mid-30s were all about a honeymoon in Costa Rica and traveling to other people's weddings. Thanks to becoming DINKs (double income no kids), this time period included multiple trips across the country to weddings in places like Virginia, Cape Cod, Carmel, upstate New York, Washington DC, Texas, Atlanta and San Francisco. Thankfully, it also included a small dose of international travel to a wedding in the Middle East, in Jordan, that involved a lot of swords.

Photo by Mariea Rummel Photography

While this may all sound quite glamorous, here is the truth. In England, I was a student, and there is nothing glamorous about having no money. The month in Paris was much the same, and meals of lettuce, baguettes and cheese were the norm. And jumping the Metro gates. And accessing the refrigerator while seated on the toilet. That big trip, to Southeast Asia and the South Pacific? Much of that time I was living out of a tent, scrimping and saving in order to continue traveling as long as possible. And working jobs like grape picking to make extra money. Costa Rica? Honeymooning in a nature preserve for part of our stay, we shacked up in a cabin outfitted with bunk beds and window screens - and 100 degree heat. We each lay prone on our bunks and insisted that it was too hot to go near each other. And then there was the punishing diarrhea in Jordan. I'll spare you the gory details, but it started at the High Place of Sacrifice and ended with an ambulance ride out of Petra (note to self for future blog post).

My life as an international traveler came to a screeching halt upon the arrival of Boy #1 in 2002. And Boy #1 arrived very sick, which made it hard to even think about leaving my home town, let alone the country. And then came Boy #2 in 2005. Romantic 10th anniversary trip to Paris in 2009? Fat chance. Trip to Europe in 2011 to visit many friends now living overseas with THEIR kids? Nada.

Oh, I know it can be done. But the logistics? And the cost? We've had a handful of adventurous trips together right here in the USA, but overseas? It's just not in the budget right now.

The locals certainly made it look easy. The women of Southeast Asia were practiced at attaching babies to their bodies with sarongs and going about their business, carrying baskets of water on their heads or working in the fields. I saw children riding effortlessly on varying modes of transportation, including the tuk-tuk, scooter, bejak, train, ferry, minibus, and tour bus. The children that I encountered were sweet, polite and curious. 

Photo by Dewan Irawan

Boy #1 and Boy #2 are now old enough to help take care of themselves, and when we finally muster up the courage (and money) to take them abroad, it will surely be easier than I imagine. I haven't given up hope. Our day will come. Will the first overseas family adventure be a new adventure for all of us? Or will I take them to one of my old haunts and show them a place that is undoubtedly not how I remember it at all?

They're not mine! Really.