20060501   

Michael considered fate at 17:23   |   Permalink   |   Post a Comment

With the world as large and complex as it is, main-stream forms of journalism will never be able to give you a real down-and-dirty picture of life in other places. That's why I always enjoy those notes from abroad from friends and acquiantances who are experiencing things first-hand; at ground zero so to speak. Here's a snippet from the far east, in the mountains of Nepal and India, far removed from our New York Times:

Hello family and friends, fellow travellers, dreamers and seekers. It's been a long time since I've been in touch, especially with personal emails (my apologies) but perhaps you will understand the lack of contact after hearing about this my latest chapter of the divine experience we call life.

i can't even remember when my last message was so I don't know where to start. Crossing the border into Nepal is a good place because that's pretty much when it all started.

border town, ghost town, hot, dry, dusty, shuttered up, boarded up, waiting out the political storm. Stuck there for one week with a slew of other travellers trying to figure out what to do and how to get out of that shithole. After a week of greasy chowmein, neurotic second hand chain smoke, and way to many speculative political conversations, a friend and I decided to take a cycle rickshaw (the only transportation allowed on the roads during the strike) 25km to Lumbini, birthplace of lord buddha. Rumour had it the Korean temple was providing hospice from travellers there. This guy I met was wearing the exact same clothing I was when we met, instant sort of connection. Anyways, after he tried to drive the rickshaw and crashed off the road we arrived in Lumbini which was like paradise. There was a psychological feeling of imprisonment because we couldn't go anywhere, all travelling agendas were on hold, but at the same time wherever you are, there you are. and schedules seem to be a western concept. the outside world faded away. no phone, no internet cafe, no idea about anything, just the peace of lumbini and the company of three other travellers. temples from all buddhist countries set in fields and forests with wild deer, herds of grazing cows, jackals, eagles, owls, trees.

The four of us spent about a week discovering the beauty of living without the need for purpose, for activity, for accomplishment. just breathing, eating, walking, sitting, looking, mostly in silence. The two other guys that had joined my friend and I left to go try to sort out their visa for India. The day they left my friend fell ill. He had been a bit feverish before this, but now it really started. full diarhea, vomitting, crazy fever/chills. He didn't leave the room after this started. He didn't eat, barely drank, didn't move except to the toilet. Everyone has seen this, even been through this before, so no big deal, just wait it out. but it just kept getting worse.

on the fourth or fifth day i left the dining hall to discover that he had managed to stagger down to the landing outside the dining hall and collapsed in seisure like spasms. The monks were tending to him, and had called an ambulance. Now it really begins. His body was ruined already, wracked with fever, hunger, dehydration, fatigue. Every bump on the ambulance he looked like he had been shot in the stomach.

We arrived at a small village hospital in Bhairawa, not the most modern facility. The nurse in the emergency was an absolute butcher with the IV, and the doctors examined him with the urgency of an afternoon chai break. They intended to take a stool test but pumped him full of antibiotics without actually knowing whether it would do any good or not. We were finally admitted to a private room where he continued to pour forth what little fluids were left in his body from both ends. After a third chai break-like examination the doctors realised he was jaundiced. They continued to haphazardly pump him full of medicine.

The whole time I was running like a madman to get supplies. For every syringe, IV drip, antibiotic, pill, lab test, everything, I have to go to a pharmacy and buy it, bring the blood to the lab, everything. Thank god the monk from the monestary gave me a fistfull of cash otherwise we'd have been totally up shit's creek. so, morning and night, my friend is exploding, and i'm running back and forth getting meds, trying to reach the insurance company, his parents etc. He is worse every hour. The room is full of mosquitoes at night, flies during the day, syringes on the floor, bloody gauze in the hallways. it is a dark few days, but thankfully i'm franticly busy enough not to dwell on it and he is in too much pain to notice anything.

another morning conference with doctors who non-chalantly announce that "the patient's condition is not improving and we can't help him. we advise discharge to higher centre in India." damn, shouldn't have given our passports to the travel agent to send away for visa application. this is turning into an unmanageable problem. no money, no luggage (back in lumbini still), no passport, no appropriate medical treatment, no ideas... only option to fly to Katmandu, but how the hell is this guy gonna get on a plane? he's half dead already and the slightest disturbance is like pure torture for him.

the doctors jovially debate about the impossibility of this guy going anywhere in his condition. no choice, have to manage. i call the Korean temple, out of options. the monk saves our lives - again. he buys us two plane tickets to katmandu that evening, arranges for the temple ambulance to come to the hospital, pick me up, take me back to the temple to get our luggage, bring me back to the hospital to pick up the ill party, and take us to the airport. he gets us past the military security at the airport leftover from the strike, and arranges an ambulance in katmandu. i'm a waterfall of sweat by this point (it's about 45 degrees). the only doctor who seemed to give a shit the whole time seemed really worried when we left because of the fever and total dehydration but inability to keep water down. no iv on the plane, so she tells me to keep him cool and drinking. hard to do in 45 degree heat when he can't drink.

I'm carrying my luggage and his, plus pushing him in a wheelchair, plus wiping his fever wracked body down with a wet cloth, plus trying to pour water in his mouth because he can't move. waiting for the airplane he starts shaking and his arms and hands seize up in wierd contortions. he is soo yellow with jaundice i get scared every time i look in his eyes, but he is totally out of it. waiting for the plane. "dan, i need ice" - "no ice man" - "wipe my forehead" I do "my temples" i do "my arms, quick they're burning" "now my feet" the desperation in his voice is traumatizing. i begin to contemplate him not making it. how are we going to fly like this? everyone around is staring at us not knowing what to do.

plane arrives. we get on, he collapses in the back of the plane. i'm squating on the floor next to the row of seats he is stretched out on frantically trying to bring down his fever, it seems critically high. he is totally delirious, his hands are cold, purple, contorted, his face and chest are scarlet red and searing hot, and his face is now contorted permanently. I'm dripping sweat, trying to keep him cool. the flight attendant tells me to take my seat and buckle up for takeoff. i tell him that ain't gonna happen. he looks at my friend and sees what I mean. as we get higher the cool air starts to flow in through the visible space in the seal of the door on the plane, he is wretching, belching gas, the flight attendant is in disbeleif. ---turbulence--- suddenly i notice i'm also feeling sick, motion sickness... too bad, i ignore it. just keep fanning, wiping, pouring water in his mouth. scared shitless...

we land... ambulance waiting, we go to the hospital. this place seems much more hightech, but the emergency room doctor has the same "I'm on a chai break" attitude. He is losing it, deliriously freaking out at anything that moves. They get him on the drip again, take some blood and run the initial tests to get him admitted. I start running back and forth between the hospital cashier, the pharmacy and the emerge room to bring meds, syringes etc. My friend tells me I smell bad and am making him feel sick. I agree. what to do...

we try to get checked into a private room. I go to make the deposit and they ask for 24000 rupees. the monk gave me another fistfull of cash at the airport, but not nearly that much. I have to go talk to the hospital director and assure him that i can come up with the cash by 1pm tomorrow. he agrees, and lets me off with 5000Rs for the night. almost out of money again.

finally we get into a room. it is quiet ----so nice and quiet--- and there is hot water. wow... after a few more runs back and forth to the pharmacy I clean up. my friend seems a little quieter now, it is about 1am, so I throw a sheet on the floor beside his bed and collapse. Shortly after, woken up by the nurse. need medication. go get it. come back to sleep.

continuely ill, he is up all night vomiting. he looks like a corpse.

this continues for two more days. he doesn't seem to be getting better. the doctors say typhoid and hepatitis, and continue to run tests. He has not eaten in about 7 days now.

finally that night he says he wants to eat something, porridge. The doctor had advised he should try to eat some porridge and the hospital could provide it. I ask the sisters (nurses) if he can get porridge. They tell me it is unavailable and i'll have to manage from outside. I reply that they had advised he shouldn't take food from outside because that's why he's sick in the first place. They reply I"ll have to manage. This arguement carries on for a while and finally they give in. he gets porridge. then he wants tea. same arguement with the nurses. finally they give in. same thing for breakfast the next day.

he finally starts to improve. i'm still running around calling his parents, calling the insurance company, calling the travel agent to get our passports in case he needs to fly home to england, calling the indian embassy to find out where the hell our passports are, going to the pharmacy, carrying open viles of his blood to the lab, rubbing his back while he vomits, pouring water into his mouth, going to the bank to get more money... stop to eat... back to the pharmacy, you get the picture.

well. the worst is over now. he's still really yellow, but he can move around, and no barfing so much anymore. he's eating and talking. i got him the hobbit to read so he is occupied. things are slowing down a bit. maybe 3 more days here, then he needs to rest another week before travelling. as for me, I'm not making any plans. plans are based on the assumption that we are in control of what happens. that assumption seems somewhat flawed to me. I'll just wait and see what happens tomorrow.

anyways, this story may sound bad, but on the contrary, I've never been more alive, i've never been more appreciative of a smile from a stranger, I've never had more confidence in divine intention, I've never been more grateful for each breath of air, life has never been more real.