East Bound and Down ... with Dengue

Well, it finally happened. I was sure I’d loose it during one of my all-night Red Bull soaked frenzies while writing my two theses last year, but I actually managed to keep it together (more or less) for that. When I stepped out of the decaying elevator at the Rex Hotel, however, all bets were off. As I stood staring down the dark corridor that supposedly led to my room, taking note of the mildew stains on the walls, rows of chipped wooden doors and dark green carpet that looked about as bad as I felt, I had one thought: “So, this is where they filmed The Shining…”

About a week and a half prior to this episode, I was sent to Phnom Penh with a high fever. Honestly, I was pretty excited. I could get out of my province for a few days, eat some good food and be back in time for the Halloween extravaganza I had planned with some other volunteers. That was before I found out I had Dengue Fever and would need hospitalization in Thailand. Dengue Fever, also known as the “break bone disease,” is a tropical illness carried by the mosquitoes that live in my bathroom. It causes a fever ranging from 101-104 degrees, severe body aches (hence the nickname), increased liver function, internal bleeding due to low platelet count, and a relentlessly maddening rash.

Coincidentally, there were actually two of us in town with Dengue at the time. Jason had a much worse strain than I did, but I still felt like someone had just used my body as a punching bag. At first, I resisted hospitalization. There’s actually nothing to be done for Dengue, and I figured I’d be more comfortable feeling miserable in a hotel room than in a hospital ward. I eventually caved in after some particularly disturbing blood work results and agreed to check into the hospital in Thailand. Jason was a few days ahead of me, so I didn’t see much of him during the worst of the illness until we both ended up back in Phnom Penh for recovery.

Apparently, health care is pretty good in Thailand, but I wouldn’t know because no one spoke English. Sure, the Dengue was hard physically … but it was much harder emotionally. Being sick and alone in a strange country for any extended amount of time is all but asking to have an emotional breakdown. Left to my own devices, with nothing but the t.v. for company and a few nurses who came in to take my blood pressure every few hours and ask me when the last time I peed was, I began planning my escape. I imagined all sorts of reasons to go AWOL and exactly how I could get out of the country before anyone was the wiser. At the peak of these fantasies, (probably fueled by the excessive number of Au Bon Pain pastries I had sent up to my room daily), I decided I would fly to France before heading home just in time for Thanksgiving. Merde.

Eventually, the “powers that be” agreed I was well enough to stay in a hotel for a few days before heading back to Cambodia after I reminded them that I was in a hospital, not a prison several times. Not one of my finest hours, I admit. None the less, this idea seemed promising because I was under the impression Jason was already there and that the hotel wouldn’t be … well … what it was. When I arrived, the squat, irritated receptionist informed me that the other volunteer had already left and briskly ushered me off to my room before I could ask any further questions. The Rex Hotel is like nothing I have ever seen. Apparently, they used to send G.I.s there to pick up prostitutes during the Vietnam War, and it doesn’t look like the place has changed much since. I’m not kidding when I say it looked like something out of a horror movie. Think: isolated location along a highway, dilapidated pool with greenish-brown water out back, view of a barbed wire fence from my window, and a thin layer of dust on everything from my sheets to the shower curtains. Sweeeet.

I was on the phone with my parents in roughly two point three minutes flat (courtesy of Peace Corps’ 10 minute complimentary call to the States “in case of emergencies”). I was hysterical. During training, we spent weeks discussing the importance of communication and safety for females – namely not to go anywhere too removed or alone for too long. Yet, there I was with no money, nothing but the clothes on my back and a piece of paper with the name and number of the PC Thailand admin office. I was pretty sure we hadn’t gone over this scenario during technical training, and I just couldn’t deal anymore. Thank God for telephones. Within minutes, Steve was cracking umpa-lumpa jokes and mom and dad were standing by as on-call life coaches: yeah, I could do this. I just needed to pull it together.

The next morning, I called my one and only contact and explained that I needed to return to Cambodia. Pronto. I didn’t feel safe, I was isolated, and I definitely didn’t have enough resources to get me through an entire weekend in Thailand. After a three hour delay during which she told me I couldn’t go back because she didn’t have the proper paperwork, yet another hysterical call to the States, and some sweet talking, I was sitting in the airport eating Dairy Queen (although it must be said that an XL cup is the size of a small at home, and that’s just wrong. You really can’t have too much soft-serve, even if you are a pint-sized Asian. Let’s get serious.).

My flight was slated to leave at 7 p.m., and since I had no money and no map, sight-seeing was out of the question. I decided it would be much nicer to wander around the airport during my 6 hours of downtime than to sit and contemplate where all the bodies were hidden at the Rex. International airports are truly phenomenal. When you step inside, it’s as if you have entered a glossed up version of whatever destination you currently find yourself at. The Thai airport is no exception. There are exotic gold statues, tropical plants and flowers to accompany the lurid posters advertising tourism in the country, restaurants for every pallet, delicate fabrics draped along endless rows of souvenir shops squeezed between high-end luxury stores. Why would you ever leave?? I felt a sense of calm wash over me as a stood outside the window at Dior – really, nothing bad could ever happen in an airport like this.

When I finally arrived back in Cambodia, I called Jason to give him Hell for “abandoning” me and then met up with him and some other PCVs to watch The Devil Wears Prada and eat chocolate cake in celebration of Erica’s birthday. Ahh comme c’est bon. I guess I didn’t need to run away to France after all. Who would have ever thought I’d be so happy to return to Cambodia? Jason and I were in town for observation and recovery for yet another week, so we decided to make the most of it. Mexican food, bar-trivia night, live election coverage. Heart be still.

After almost three solid weeks, I’m finally back at site. I would say back to the grind, but Cambodia is celebrating yet another holiday that I don’t fully understand, which means I won’t be teaching until the 17th of this month (mind you, they just had 4 days off a week and a half ago for the King’s bday). Typical. It really is nice to be back at site and feeling like myself again. My teaching buddies, Ratha, Monny have already started planning our next cooking session and coffee date so I’m sure I won’t have too much down time in the days to come. Plus, Colin and Conor are coming to visit this week, which will be awesome. But that’s another post.