India

Feb 8

When sickness comes there is no other place you want to be but in your own bed. Being across the world and sick makes me a perfect example for this idea. I didn’t expect to stay 100% healthy in India, in fact I knew I would get sick, but when it came time to actually get sick I wasn’t ready.

I was up all night getting rid of the things I had eaten that Sunday without accepting any of the things I needed. Today was supposed to be a big day for my upper class so I knew I needed to go. I hopped into my driver’s car and tried to prepare for the longest day ever.

As I pulled up to Pappan Kalan and walked into the first classroom in the alley which was my older class I was quickly told that today was not a good day to be in this room and they would prefer if I worked with the younger students. This request along with the behavior of the children could have not happened at a worse time. I thought I’d be fine when I walked into the classroom and was greeted by 40 adorable smiling faces shouting “good morning, Sir!” I smiled back and thought, “How could I ever dread this class?” Oh how quickly I would learn.

I started having them draw thank you cards for the people who donated to their new school, which went pretty well, but as soon as I left and went to the class next door to do the same activity everything became a mess. When I reentered the room ten minutes later not one child was sitting up against the wall like they are suppose to. They were all wrestling, running around, and hitting each other. No matter how many times I sorted out these problems they quickly re-sparked as each kid was in search of the last word, punch, our hair tug. I tried to maintain my cool as I could slowly feel my body getting weaker and weaker.

When class finally ended and I got in my car I knew I was in trouble. In the 80-degree weather I had started to get a strong chill. I quickly rushed to the hospital where I was told over the doctoring using his phone to text, that I probably either have Typhoid, a liver infection, or “something wrong with my intestine.” In a sickened slur I asked what needed to be done. My feelings of sickness quickly subsided as something more dreadful for me arose in the search for what was causing my illness. “Sir, were going to have to do blood test.”

I remember being sick a few years ago and being made to have blood test. At the end of them I had bitten a hole in my sweater and I fearfully asked, “Will I ever have to do this again?” I figured of course I would probably have to, but I never figured it would be in India, countries away from the comforts of my home.

As the straps tightened around my arm, I felt my face freeze as I attempted to prepare for what was to come. The nurses seeing this started to worry. “What’s wrong sir, are you okay!” they nervously projected.  My patience had run out, “ I’m fine just get on with it” I shook.

With my fist clinched, I felt the metal enter my arm. I gagged. The needle, the veins, the blood, there was nothing I needed more then to be out of there.  As the needle left my arm they quickly asked me if I wanted water. In a panic I said “yes,” but soon retracted that knowing it could make me sicker and I would for sure throw it up like everything else I consumed.

I was handed a bundle of five confusing prescriptions that were suppose to help and was told to return in two days for my test results. So for the next two days I will be forcing myself to drink and eat things that I know are going to quickly return, while hoping that these test results come back with a good outcome. As much as I dread being sick I also am upset about missing my classes for what will probably be the rest of the week. India you have been good to me so far, don’t stop now!