Home Again

There's something about being in your 20s that makes you think you're invincible. Long illnesses, long hospital stays, even longer recovery periods? That's something that happens to other people, the poor souls. Not to you. Just three weekends ago you were dancing till 4 a.m. with your friends, what could possibly happen to you now?

Quite a lot, it turns out. So it started out as a simple fever and cough (and tonnes of swine flu jokes, haha) which should have been my usual once-a-year brush with illness that lasted 2 days, as per the norm. But 2 days turned into 4, and the doctors amended their diagnosis to tonsilitis...then after 6 days that changed to the flu...and after 8 days they stood behind their desks with their masks firmly in place (I kid you not), recommending I go to the Ministry of Health and get tested for the H1N1 virus that seems to be rampant over here. So off I trotted (well, not really trotted - after 8 days of 103 degree temperature, I could just about manage a crawl) to the Ministry, where I was perplexingly told that I didn't meet all the criteria for swine flu, but to be on the safe side they were prescribing Tamiflu for 10 days anyway. Oooookay. Still no clue what I had. Then one merciful doctor took pity on me and suggested I go to a private hospital and get a chest x-ray done.

Hallelujah! Result! Severe bilateral pneumonia (in English = one entire lung filled with fluid and the the other one about 30% affected = I'm screwed = that prolonged hospital stay I mentioned above). So, I faced my first ever hospital stay (as I said, I've always been reasonably healthy, and reasonably smug about it too) with mild curiosity (too damn tired to muster up anything else) and a strong determination that I WOULD NOT USE A BEDPAN. Oh, they tried, believe me, they tried. But I stood firm. As long as I could walk (barely) and there was breath in my body (from 70% of one lung) I would go to the bathroom on my own, damnit! I won. But they got their revenge - intraveinous antibiotics and saline drips and my apparently "feeble" veins that required a new hole to be poked in my arms every day - I swear, it's cured me of ever wanting a tattoo. In fact, I think I'll be happy if I never even see another sewing needle again.

All jokes aside, it was scary. But 8 days in there, and I'm back home (and NEVER have I appreciated my own bed and home food so much!) and eternally grateful to all the nurses who checked up on me every hour and came to trade jokes and life stories and show me pictures of their kids back home and complain about various husbands and boyfriends (how? How do I end up being Agony Aunt even in the hospital when I can barely talk?). And my GOD I'm grateful for my folks, who stood by me on the critical bedpan issue and hauled me out of bed to the bathroom, saline drip and all, when I needed to go. Not to mention played endless rounds of cards with me.

On the plus side - the hospital food was surprisingly awesome. And I taught mom and dad how to play poker!

Downside - I have to give up on Coke. Or at least scale back. Sigh.

But I'm home!! And recovering!!