I've been shot in the ass.
Not by a bullet, mind you, but by a very long needle. Here's the story.
I started feeling queasy upon our return to Guatemala City from Livingston. Whether from the abrupt temperature and pressure changes (cool and dry in Antigua, super hot and humid in Flores and Livingston, back to cool, dry and windy in Guatemala City) or from something I ate, I don't know.
Anyway, Sunday evening I wasn't entirely myself. On Monday, I had a sore throat most of the day and was feeling a bit tired, but nothing extreme. It started at dinner. While the chicken sandwich I ate was absolutely excellent, it hit my stomach like a ton of bricks. My stomach just seized up and I couldn't even walk straight back to our hotel--I was mildly hunched over in pain the entire time.
Nevertheless, Pascal and I went out clubbing Monday night, which in retrospect probably wasn't the wisest thing for me to do in my condition. But, hey, we're on vacation.
Tuesday we slept until noon, and I felt fairly lame all around. My throat hurt and I was feeling weak. I got this throat spray at a local pharmacy and it seemed to help a little bit, but it certainly wasn't curing me.
We drove back to Antigua, and I knew trouble was just around the corner when I couldn't even start eating the delicious looking chicken sandwich they brought me for dinner there. Uh-oh.
I slept absolutely miserably Tuesday night, the pain in my throat occasionally displaced by severe gastrointestinal pain, in between bouts of fitful sleep and very dark, odd dreams. Oh yeah, and let's not forget the fever.
When I woke up, my throat was so swollen I couldn't even speak. I motioned Pascal over and wrote down the following on a piece of paper: "I think I have strep throat. Can you get me some penicillin from the pharmacy?" Then I flopped back down on the bed and wallowed in feverish discomfort.
Pascal returned from the pharmacy with liquid penicillin and a syringe. Well, there was just no way I was going to inject myself with anything, so I sent Pascal back to get me the tablets that I could just swallow.
Alas, they did not have any. Instead, the pharmacy recommended another antibiotic: azithromycin. Fine. I took the tablet and Pascal left on a 2-day hike of another volcano. Obviously, I couldn't join him.
I slept most of the morning (poorly) and then my stomach condition came back to haunt me. I think I actually had two separate illnesses going on simultaneously: the strep throat thing and some kind of food poisoning. Neither enjoyable by themselves, they're even less so in tandem.
I'll spare everyone the details on the repercussions of the stomach disorder. Needless to say, spending extended periods of time in the restroom while dealing with a fever and a major sore throat was not my idea of a good time.
By 1:30, I suspected the antibiotics from the pharmacy were not having their intended effect. I could barely swallow water (and then only with major pain) and swallowing food was absolutely out of the question (as if I was hungry anyway). Mustering the strength I had left, I slinked over to an Internet cafe and checked out the antibiotic they had given me. Sure enough, although it could be used to treat strep throat, it wasn't nearly as effective as penicillin and many strains of the virus were resistant to this particular antibiotic.
So I hunted for a doctor. There's always something otherworldly about walking around town in a fever. Everything seems disconnected, you wonder how people can move so fast; you look at people talking and wonder what's so important that it requires so many words. When you're really sick, the only things that really matter are the pain and how to get relief from that pain.
The fact that I couldn't talk--the best I could muster was a weak whisper--didn't help much, but one of our guides from a trip earlier (Michael) was kind enough to point me in the right direction to a competent doctor.
This guy took one look at my throat and said "penicillin." I knew it. Unfortunately, he didn't have the oral tablets, so he pulled out the longest syringe this side of the Rio Grande and implanted the thing deep inside my right butt cheek before injecting what felt like an entire quart of fluid. It wasn't a happy moment in Gabriel's world.
I limped back to my hotel room and passed out for another few hours in another haze of feverish discomfort and strange dreams. One of the weird things I've always noticed about fevers is how all of a sudden there's no position in the world in which your body is comfortable--for some reason, everything hurts and in my case my lower spine seemed particularly aggravated. Lots of tossing and turning.
I woke up around 6:30 and wandered out in search of some food. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. My throat swelling was definitely down enough to swallow (albeit still uncomfortably) and I figured that as long as I didn't overdo it my stomach should be able to handle it.
I ate a light meal, and on the way back to the hotel I ran into Pascal. What the hell?! He was supposed to be camping tonight on the peak of Volcan Acatenango! Turns out the weather had been so amazingly bad (high winds, rain, clouds/fog) that camping there was out of the question so they hiked back down through rain and mud. Pascal looked pretty drained (there's nothing quite like trekking through cold rain and getting competely soaked and muddy to do that to you) and had a throbbing headache. By the time we went to bed he was nauseous and thought he might vomit as well. I slid the trash can from next to my bed (where I'd had it for that very eventuality) over to his bed. Thankfully, we both slept well and woke up feeling considerably better. Yay.
Of course, while my sore throat and stomach ache are mostly gone, I still have the mother-of-all-bruises on my right flank. Walking hurts, sitting hurts, and should--God forbid--something actually hit me in that general area I'm sure I'll be seeing stars. Our flights home tomorrow should be interesting in that regard--can't quite say I'm looking forward to the experience...
Hey, did you guys hear about the bus that was hijacked yesterday not too far from where we are? A band of machine-gun carrying Guatemalans attacked a bus full of 13 tourists and robbed them of everything. One of the tourists was fatally shot and the driver of the bus was shot in the leg. A small reminder that this country still has a few issues.
Speaking of buses, have you ever wondered where used school buses go? Guatemala. There are--I'm not kidding--thousands of them in this country. Many of them they cut off the cab to replace it with the cab from another truck, and then they're all painted with flashy color patters: reds, yellows, greens. Some even have fancy shiny hubcaps and extra lighting effects. They're used as the most basic form of transportation around the entire country. 'Chicken buses,' they're called, presumably because as many chickens ride them as people.
Well, this about wraps up our Guatemalan experience. Pascal and I have a few errands to run today before heading to our hotel in Guatemala City. We leave early tomorrow morning. I hear it's a bit chilly in Iowa these days...just when we were getting used to shorts, a t-shirt and sunblock!
Cheers!
Gabriel
