Today was my first day in the hospital. I'm using the term "day" very loosely. I made it about an hour and a half. I vomited the first time about 20 minutes in and was sent home the second time when I casually mentioned that I was feeling a bit faint. Turns out being pale and puky doesn't instill confidence in your ability to finish rounds. I can't understand why that would be.
My best guess is that I just succumbed to the oppressive heat, smells, and strange food. It's rare that I am ever physically ill. Especially as violently and suddenly as I was. At least the maintenance guy enjoyed watching me throw up in the latrine. He laughed as I ran in and then when I came out, explained to me with hand gestures that I am supposed to point the other end at the hole. Very funny.
So here I am back at base (what we call our compound). Slowly sipping Emergen-C in water and trying not to over do it. They don't know that Over-do-it is my middle name here yet. Shhhh.
I'm going to hydrate, gather my strength, and head in again after lunch. I have nothing better to do. Might as well get back on the horse.
So in the last 72 hours, I have navigated the familiar wall of heat and sound that is NYC in the summer, gotten drunk in Heathrow with my best British (and one American transplant) mates, fought my way through the Visa line and luggage check in Juba (with a little help), and been briefed and and debriefed and briefed again. Normally I would be tired after all this motion, but I'm running on some sort of epic adrenaline high. I keep waiting for the inevitable exhaustion to set in. I know it's coming.
Until then, it's back to work...
My best guess is that I just succumbed to the oppressive heat, smells, and strange food. It's rare that I am ever physically ill. Especially as violently and suddenly as I was. At least the maintenance guy enjoyed watching me throw up in the latrine. He laughed as I ran in and then when I came out, explained to me with hand gestures that I am supposed to point the other end at the hole. Very funny.
So here I am back at base (what we call our compound). Slowly sipping Emergen-C in water and trying not to over do it. They don't know that Over-do-it is my middle name here yet. Shhhh.
I'm going to hydrate, gather my strength, and head in again after lunch. I have nothing better to do. Might as well get back on the horse.
So in the last 72 hours, I have navigated the familiar wall of heat and sound that is NYC in the summer, gotten drunk in Heathrow with my best British (and one American transplant) mates, fought my way through the Visa line and luggage check in Juba (with a little help), and been briefed and and debriefed and briefed again. Normally I would be tired after all this motion, but I'm running on some sort of epic adrenaline high. I keep waiting for the inevitable exhaustion to set in. I know it's coming.
Until then, it's back to work...
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