That being said, I love to eat and I have a senstive stomach. I know it's not the best combination but I find a way. It's hard to not want to really get in there, try things that you've never had or heard of, explore the culinary delights of that new place you've begun to fall in love with. The smells can be intoxicating, emitting from the restaurants, throughout the streets and alleyways, and from open windows above with the sounds of families enjoying themselves inside. So much of a culture is wrapped around what it eats. Food, it brings people together and is something we all need. The temptations are ever present during travel, a battle from within; do you let your apprehensions to what the outcome could be stop you or do you dive right in, mouth first into the delicious, steaming plate of grilled meats and god knows what kind of salad and await the reprecussions?
Somewhere along the way I picked wrong. I thought I was being careful with food choices, washing my hands frequently, and we even used bottled water to brush our teeth, but unfortunately I was not careful enough. I got sick, really sick, I'm still sick. Traveling through Morocco is an experiance I will always hold close to my heart. The simple pleasures, ancient old crafts, the landscape, and the people with their ability to find smiles through such hardships. It changed the way I see the world and my privileged place within it.
In Casablanca, Morocco, I was so sick Pit took me to the hospital. Those moments that turned into minutes will be forever etched in my memory. I was not only fighting some sort of infection internally, unbeknownst to me at the time, but I was in a third world hospital in a country where very few spoke English. I believe people are innately good and mean well but that doesn't always translate to our expectations of them. We went into a dark room through an open doorway, a street cat curled up on the floor under the counter window, where a women didn't seem that thrilled to see us, we'd reached Emergency Admissions. Pit tried communicating, she jotted down some information from my passport and I was whisked down a short hallway into a smaller room. People stared, maybe they'd never seen an American before and I knew I didn't look good. The nurses didn't understand me either, I started to cry, I was so afraid. When everyone around you is speaking French, it was a French colony for years, or Arabic and you're feeling like crude and you don't understand, its so hard to not fall apart. Pit was my light. I tried the best I could to explain the symptoms through basic hand gestures and was then pointed to follow another nurse to another room, a few doors down, deeper within. Barred windows were broken in places letting a slight warm breeze blow in. I could hear the traffic just outside & the stirrings of the other patients. The room had three other beds, all full. I got shown to mine and left for moment. My heart raced, I didn't know what was going on, I felt so horrible. Pit told me it would be okay. I didn't even want to sit on the bed, it had seen better days. The seperating wall between the patient spaces was filthy, splatters of dried blood and bodily fluids visible to my eyes. Everything was dirty. This couldn't be a real hospital, a place people went to get help. The nurse came back with a syringe in hand, ready to poke me. I protested, I didn't know what it was. I couldn't keep the tears from falling. Pit was my light, reiterating that I would be okay. I took the injection of whatever it was, potassium probably, and hoped for the best. I believe people are innately good and they wouldn't hurt me on purpose. That was it, no tempature check, no blood pressure, no blood samples to see what was actually going on inside, not even any real verbal communication between us. I got four prescriptions, no idea what they were at the time, and left the hospital to find a pharmacy. We walked a block, maybe two and found it. The pharmacists assisted us a little with archaic markings on the boxes to help us decode the instructions. Luckily we go a cab on the way back to our hotel that spoke some english and he helped decipher the medication as best he could.
The next day we flew to Barcelona, Spain. I didn't feel any better but thought lets let the anitibiotics work their magic, took a shower, skipped eating, and went to bed. I awoke with pain throughout my whole body, my fever present almost 5 days now, something ravishing my innards. Pit found a hospital and we were on our way early. I was relieved to think it had to be better than what I experianced just two days before, but I was still scared. I didn't know what was wrong with me & I'd never felt this sick. After hours in the emergency room, being poked & prodded, blood tests, & talking with many emergency room doctors through broken English I was admitted to the Hospital de Barcelona. With no more information than I needed to stay & that I had an internal infection, I was staying put. At least I had drugs to help the with fever and the pain.
The room was clean and private. The staff was attentive and sweet but Spanish speaking after all I'm in their country. Thank goodness I know some Spanish and my doctor, Dr. Ignasi Coll of internal medicine, speaks pretty good English. He has kind eyes, the kind that soothe without needing to say much. I've had tough moments in the hospital filled with doubt, fear, anxiety, the implacable desire to come home and be surrounded by familiar anything. I'm still here, going on day three with a needle in my arm for what seems like consistent antibiotics and fluids. I hadn't eaten in almost 3 full days, until this morning. I received toast and a piece of lunch meat ham for breakfast. The view is nice, 14th floor and I can see a tiny fragment of the Mediterranean Sea. Pit and I got to watch a lighting storm in the distance from my window just this morning. I'm starting to feel better too and hoping to get out tonight or tomorrow morning to embark on our long journey home.
I've never been so sick that I actually thought about how much I wanted to live, how much I have to live for, and how much good there is in the world that I want to be a part of. I've been shown my frailty in a very personal way and its hard to sit with. Earlier this year, I watched my little brother lose his short battle with cancer at just 21 and that has been very hard to sit with too. Our lives are so transient, fleeting into the eternal sublime, nothing being guaranteed. We are not all handed the same beginnings, the same privileges, but we are all susceptible to the same end. Moment by moment we choose to dive right in or hold back, temptations ever present. I'm going to dive in nonetheless, cautious yes, but unafraid of the impact it could have on me and more excited for the possible impact it could have on everyone else.
