La Muerte

I rarely get sick, so when I do, my body doesn't know how to deal with it.

I'm glad to say that I felt fine during my kayak and horseback riding trips yesterday, but as soon as I got back to San Lucas, I knew that something was wrong.  I ended up calling it an early night and going to bed by 9pm.

When I woke up in the middle of the night, I was running a high fever.  I was so dehydrated that my tongue felt like sandpaper in my mouth.  I was nauseous, but I couldn't bring myself to vomit.  I was curled up under several layers but still shivering and producing night sweats.

"What if I feel like this tomorrow?" I thought to myself.  "There's no way I can travel feeling like this.  Will I be forced to stay in Guatemala until I recover?  Do I need to call the airline company and postpone my return?  How would I pay for healthcare in a foreign country?"

As I lay in bed last night, I was seconds away from calling a tuk-tuk to be taken to the clinic so I could get IV fluids and ondansetron.  I don't recall every being so uncomfortable in my entire life.  Luckily I feel better this morning, but I pray that the fever doesn't return tonight.  I'm really not in the mood to be tested for malaria when I get back.

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