I had sailed through the first set of firsts (first class, first moto ride, first wandering around at night, first grocery shopping) and was pretty proud of myself. I mean, I was negotiating taxi fares with the best of them. But there's a time when you need (the royal "you") a second wind or your bravado gets, well, less brave. I had started to hit that wall. I realized I was avoiding things, like motos, motos at night, motos at night in the rain (well, that last thing is just going to be avoided) and then I got sick.
The interesting thing about being sick far from home is how small and aprehensive you can feel. The fact that I had not yet learned where to buy, say, pepto-bizmo or, perhaps worse, that I don't know where I picked up these little gastric visitors, just made me curl up inside. I stayed in bed, listening to re-runs of This American Life
I wanted to tough it out, or more to the truth, I wanted it to just go away. But, I resorted to CiPro. Wonderful things, drugs. Now I'm in my office, planning to take my first unaccompanied bus ride out to KLab. I'm feeling, like, that wasn't so bad. Perhaps I can eat again. Someday.
One other note about being sick: here, in the less resourced clinics, patients are expected to buy their meds (even IV) and have their families provide food, attendance, clean linen if available. If someone doesn't have a family available, they're just alone in a room where someone on the staff checks up on them once a day. No one is going to feed or clean them. My roomate's clinic is now terribly understaffed: one doctor for 30 (high risk) births / day. The rule is: 20 minutes of labor and then a C-section.
I am glad I am teaching Engineering classes ....