So it has been quite the rough week for your good friend Laura.
Sunday was a full day off with no classes, so I walked into Lakeside with the other volunteer. The walk was wonderful, the landscape beautiful. In Lakeside, we had a couple drinks and then parted ways, we each had something different to accomplish.
My mission was to find paper, crayons and other fun things to help in my classes. Now Lakeside is quite touristy, and so I ventured down some side roads looking for stores that sold more than the postcards/hippie clothes/trekking gear. I scoured mutiple "S-Marts", fixed price stores that sold mostly dry goods and drinks. It took multiple purchases but I found some of what I was looking for.
Then it was time to find food. I loved the fish and momo's I had last time I was in Lakeside, so I tried out a new restaurant (which of course offered free wifi) and ordered grilled fish and chicken momo. It was quite tasty, I remember thinking at the time. Only I can't think of the meal now without getting queasy.
After the meal I grabbed some soda's and treats to take back to the school and hailed a taxi. I didn't want to walk back with my now filled backpack and full stomach. It was a good thing too, because as soon as I was back at the school I was in my room with indigestion. I thought maybe a drink would help, and one of the cans of Sprite was still quite cold. I started drinking it only to be forced to rush to the bathroom; everything started to come up.
And it continued from there.
I skipped supper that night, unable to even keep water down. I foolishly tried drinking more soda, hoping the sugary-saltiness might be better for my weak stomach than the plain water. It didn't help. Everything still came up.
Monday morning I went downstairs to talk to the monks and other teachers, explaining how I hadn't slept the night before, (and I hadn't, not one wink, I was in agony), and that I wanted to rest. They were completely understanding, and so upstairs to my room I went. At lunch I had some tea, and then back to sleep. My stomach wasn't hurting so much, although my chest was feeling intense pain. I think the vomiting burned my diaphragm and esophagus.
That night at supper I had some bread and dal (lentil soup), and felt much better. I went to sleep with no real trouble, I remember as I fell asleep that I thought "thank goodness, I am on the mend". Yet when I woke up the next morning, Tuesday, it was back.
My stomach was like lead, and in the early morning I began puking once more. My body was weak and I was ready to die. It hurt so very much. I got dressed and walked down to see the teachers, explaining that I had been getting better but got worse again. So they all agreed I should rest some more. I had a cup of tea, then back to bed.
At least sleeping in the daytime wasn't so hard. At lunch, one of the monklets came to check on me, asking "lunch miss?" I thanked him but said no. I got some fresh water and went back to bed. I didn't even have the energy to watch shows on my computer or listen to music. All I wanted was the release of pain that came with slumber.
By supper, I was feeling better again. I took some more tea, and ate some crackers I had brought from home (sadly, all gone now). I also had some oreo's I had picked up in Lakeside, and sat down with the monks and teachers as the children played. The little Russian boy's mother was visiting for supper, and had brought fresh mangoes. She offered me a piece, which I took happily. The sweet, sugary deliciousness made my evening, and I felt somewhat restored. She offered me some more, but I didn't want to push it. Again, I went to bed early, feeling much better than before.
Again, I woke up only to be gripped with intense pain and the urgent need to vomit.
I vomited what little was left in me, unable to swallow even water, and got dressed. I made my way downstairs, crying, to find someone to help. One of the teachers offered to take me to the hospital, but all I could think of was my bed. I told him if I was sick at lunch, I would go. He told me he would help me.
I went back to my room, only to be approached by the monks who told me they thought I should go to the hospital. One helped me pack a bag and they called for a taxi to come, and so I waited downstairs, in pain, for my transport.
When it finally arrived, I climbed in with my teacher friend, who would act as interpreter and protector. The drive took longer than I thought I could handle, through the quiet countryside, into Lakeside then into Pokhara proper. Traffic, potholes, cows, people everywhere. It was overwhelming. Finally we stopped in front of a smallish white building, and I recognized the ER beside the Nepali writing.
I went inside, and that was when I first encountered the amazing and yet basic system that is medical care here.
At the front is a counter, with doctors behind it. The first people you speak to are doctors. I tried to explain what was wrong, and he checked some things off on a sheet, sending me downstairs to the lab.
At the lab, they drew blood (needles were fresh out of sterile packages every time), or at least they tried. My veins are notoriously hard to find on a good day, and I was severely dehydrated. But after 3 different people tried, they got a smaller gauge needle and was able to find a vein in my hand. Then the blood went for processing. And I paid for the tests.
About 1800 rupees, or 20 or so bucks. You pay up front, and within 20 minutes you have your results. I had a slighty elevated white blood count, but I didn't know how to explain to them that it could actually be normal for me, as I have struggled with autoimmune disorders before. They sent me back upstairs to see the doctor again.
\
The doctor read the results, wrote up a prescription, and sent my friend to buy the supplies. About another 10 bucks. He came back and gave the doctor the bag, which contained two bags of fluids, and some medications I would need. They hooked up an IV to my hand, then let nature take its course.
The fluids made all the difference. By the end of the second bag, I was still fatigued, but able to sit up without feeling like I was going to pass out. The doctor wanted me to drink some tea, then if that stayed down, eat some soup. I complied, my companion off to find the drink and food. I drank the tea, it didn't hurt so the soup came next. It was a bland mix of carrot shreds, green onion and cabbage. I drank most of the broth, avoiding the cabbage as much as possible (I have never been able to digest cabbage). It stayed down, so we thanked the doctor and set off.
On the way back to the school, we stopped at another S-Mart and I bought packets of soup, some digestive cookies, a bottle of orange fanta and a carton of apple juice. Then came the long, bumpy taxi ride to the school. When I arrived, I stumbled upstairs to my room, only taking the energy to make my bed, then shower, and fall fast asleep.
I woke up a few hours later, feeling weak but better. I went through the bag of supplies, reading my diagnoses and the schedule for the pills I was supposed to take over the next 7 days (my companion had written it out in perfect english for me), then made my way with the soup packet downstairs to give to the cook.
He was happy I was well, everyone was so happy to see me. I thanked them, then apologized and excused myself to lie down again. Even moving up and down the stairs took so much effort, was so draining. At 630 that night I took my first pill, at 7 I had my first bowl of soup. Then I was straight to bed.
I almost vomited that night, but managed to keep everything down. I took my nighttime pill, went to sleep and woke up this morning feeling much better. Today I started the day with tea and digestive cookies, hoping it would settle well. I had a few gulps of icy cold orange Fanta (it was in the freezer overnight) and napped much of the morning. I had soup at lunch, and will again for supper tonight. Then tomorrow, a holiday here at the school, I hope to be back on a regular meal plan like everyone else.
While laying in the hospital, all I wanted was to give up. I wanted it all to be over, for me to be home, with my mother taking care of me. I thought of how horrible the trip home would be if I was sick, but didn't care. I was ready to call my brother and ask him to change my ticket, plead and beg if he had to, explain how sick I was and get me home. I was in agony, and missed everything familiar. Even now I still have a nagging feeling inside, that I want to be home, surrounded by comfort and ease. Yet I am not giving up. I know that if I did, I would regret it. I am here not just to help, but to discover my own strength and worth. And giving up is not something I would every find worthy in myself.
I am better, just trying not to overwhelm my healing digestive system with heaviness or bulk. Lght meals, medications 3 times a day, and bed rest.
Funny enough, when I heard tomorrow is a holiday, I laughed that as soon as I got better they take a holiday. The monks found that funny as well.
And our health care system could learn a thing or two from this one. I was in and out in 4 hours. A trip for this to the ER at home could find you waiting to see a doctor for hours, let alone receive treatment. Why, with all our advancements and staff, do things take so bloody long? I am happy, however, to be done with it. I hate feeling like a week was wasted, but perhaps I was meant to learn from this. Learn that I can't always be in control, that sometimes you need to take help where it comes, and allow nature to take its course.
Or maybe I just was meant to learn not to eat momos.
Whatever, I have survived, and will continue on.
Namaste, friends,
Laura
Sunday was a full day off with no classes, so I walked into Lakeside with the other volunteer. The walk was wonderful, the landscape beautiful. In Lakeside, we had a couple drinks and then parted ways, we each had something different to accomplish.
My mission was to find paper, crayons and other fun things to help in my classes. Now Lakeside is quite touristy, and so I ventured down some side roads looking for stores that sold more than the postcards/hippie clothes/trekking gear. I scoured mutiple "S-Marts", fixed price stores that sold mostly dry goods and drinks. It took multiple purchases but I found some of what I was looking for.
Then it was time to find food. I loved the fish and momo's I had last time I was in Lakeside, so I tried out a new restaurant (which of course offered free wifi) and ordered grilled fish and chicken momo. It was quite tasty, I remember thinking at the time. Only I can't think of the meal now without getting queasy.
After the meal I grabbed some soda's and treats to take back to the school and hailed a taxi. I didn't want to walk back with my now filled backpack and full stomach. It was a good thing too, because as soon as I was back at the school I was in my room with indigestion. I thought maybe a drink would help, and one of the cans of Sprite was still quite cold. I started drinking it only to be forced to rush to the bathroom; everything started to come up.
And it continued from there.
I skipped supper that night, unable to even keep water down. I foolishly tried drinking more soda, hoping the sugary-saltiness might be better for my weak stomach than the plain water. It didn't help. Everything still came up.
Monday morning I went downstairs to talk to the monks and other teachers, explaining how I hadn't slept the night before, (and I hadn't, not one wink, I was in agony), and that I wanted to rest. They were completely understanding, and so upstairs to my room I went. At lunch I had some tea, and then back to sleep. My stomach wasn't hurting so much, although my chest was feeling intense pain. I think the vomiting burned my diaphragm and esophagus.
That night at supper I had some bread and dal (lentil soup), and felt much better. I went to sleep with no real trouble, I remember as I fell asleep that I thought "thank goodness, I am on the mend". Yet when I woke up the next morning, Tuesday, it was back.
My stomach was like lead, and in the early morning I began puking once more. My body was weak and I was ready to die. It hurt so very much. I got dressed and walked down to see the teachers, explaining that I had been getting better but got worse again. So they all agreed I should rest some more. I had a cup of tea, then back to bed.
At least sleeping in the daytime wasn't so hard. At lunch, one of the monklets came to check on me, asking "lunch miss?" I thanked him but said no. I got some fresh water and went back to bed. I didn't even have the energy to watch shows on my computer or listen to music. All I wanted was the release of pain that came with slumber.
By supper, I was feeling better again. I took some more tea, and ate some crackers I had brought from home (sadly, all gone now). I also had some oreo's I had picked up in Lakeside, and sat down with the monks and teachers as the children played. The little Russian boy's mother was visiting for supper, and had brought fresh mangoes. She offered me a piece, which I took happily. The sweet, sugary deliciousness made my evening, and I felt somewhat restored. She offered me some more, but I didn't want to push it. Again, I went to bed early, feeling much better than before.
Again, I woke up only to be gripped with intense pain and the urgent need to vomit.
I vomited what little was left in me, unable to swallow even water, and got dressed. I made my way downstairs, crying, to find someone to help. One of the teachers offered to take me to the hospital, but all I could think of was my bed. I told him if I was sick at lunch, I would go. He told me he would help me.
I went back to my room, only to be approached by the monks who told me they thought I should go to the hospital. One helped me pack a bag and they called for a taxi to come, and so I waited downstairs, in pain, for my transport.
When it finally arrived, I climbed in with my teacher friend, who would act as interpreter and protector. The drive took longer than I thought I could handle, through the quiet countryside, into Lakeside then into Pokhara proper. Traffic, potholes, cows, people everywhere. It was overwhelming. Finally we stopped in front of a smallish white building, and I recognized the ER beside the Nepali writing.
I went inside, and that was when I first encountered the amazing and yet basic system that is medical care here.
At the front is a counter, with doctors behind it. The first people you speak to are doctors. I tried to explain what was wrong, and he checked some things off on a sheet, sending me downstairs to the lab.
At the lab, they drew blood (needles were fresh out of sterile packages every time), or at least they tried. My veins are notoriously hard to find on a good day, and I was severely dehydrated. But after 3 different people tried, they got a smaller gauge needle and was able to find a vein in my hand. Then the blood went for processing. And I paid for the tests.
About 1800 rupees, or 20 or so bucks. You pay up front, and within 20 minutes you have your results. I had a slighty elevated white blood count, but I didn't know how to explain to them that it could actually be normal for me, as I have struggled with autoimmune disorders before. They sent me back upstairs to see the doctor again.
\
The doctor read the results, wrote up a prescription, and sent my friend to buy the supplies. About another 10 bucks. He came back and gave the doctor the bag, which contained two bags of fluids, and some medications I would need. They hooked up an IV to my hand, then let nature take its course.
The fluids made all the difference. By the end of the second bag, I was still fatigued, but able to sit up without feeling like I was going to pass out. The doctor wanted me to drink some tea, then if that stayed down, eat some soup. I complied, my companion off to find the drink and food. I drank the tea, it didn't hurt so the soup came next. It was a bland mix of carrot shreds, green onion and cabbage. I drank most of the broth, avoiding the cabbage as much as possible (I have never been able to digest cabbage). It stayed down, so we thanked the doctor and set off.
On the way back to the school, we stopped at another S-Mart and I bought packets of soup, some digestive cookies, a bottle of orange fanta and a carton of apple juice. Then came the long, bumpy taxi ride to the school. When I arrived, I stumbled upstairs to my room, only taking the energy to make my bed, then shower, and fall fast asleep.
I woke up a few hours later, feeling weak but better. I went through the bag of supplies, reading my diagnoses and the schedule for the pills I was supposed to take over the next 7 days (my companion had written it out in perfect english for me), then made my way with the soup packet downstairs to give to the cook.
He was happy I was well, everyone was so happy to see me. I thanked them, then apologized and excused myself to lie down again. Even moving up and down the stairs took so much effort, was so draining. At 630 that night I took my first pill, at 7 I had my first bowl of soup. Then I was straight to bed.
I almost vomited that night, but managed to keep everything down. I took my nighttime pill, went to sleep and woke up this morning feeling much better. Today I started the day with tea and digestive cookies, hoping it would settle well. I had a few gulps of icy cold orange Fanta (it was in the freezer overnight) and napped much of the morning. I had soup at lunch, and will again for supper tonight. Then tomorrow, a holiday here at the school, I hope to be back on a regular meal plan like everyone else.
While laying in the hospital, all I wanted was to give up. I wanted it all to be over, for me to be home, with my mother taking care of me. I thought of how horrible the trip home would be if I was sick, but didn't care. I was ready to call my brother and ask him to change my ticket, plead and beg if he had to, explain how sick I was and get me home. I was in agony, and missed everything familiar. Even now I still have a nagging feeling inside, that I want to be home, surrounded by comfort and ease. Yet I am not giving up. I know that if I did, I would regret it. I am here not just to help, but to discover my own strength and worth. And giving up is not something I would every find worthy in myself.
I am better, just trying not to overwhelm my healing digestive system with heaviness or bulk. Lght meals, medications 3 times a day, and bed rest.
Funny enough, when I heard tomorrow is a holiday, I laughed that as soon as I got better they take a holiday. The monks found that funny as well.
And our health care system could learn a thing or two from this one. I was in and out in 4 hours. A trip for this to the ER at home could find you waiting to see a doctor for hours, let alone receive treatment. Why, with all our advancements and staff, do things take so bloody long? I am happy, however, to be done with it. I hate feeling like a week was wasted, but perhaps I was meant to learn from this. Learn that I can't always be in control, that sometimes you need to take help where it comes, and allow nature to take its course.
Or maybe I just was meant to learn not to eat momos.
Whatever, I have survived, and will continue on.
Namaste, friends,
Laura
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