Make it Go Away!

I was in a bad dream. I thrashed around trying to get the ants off of me. I was in a thick mud and my body could feel every grain of sand. Was I awake or asleep? Was I in that in between stage? My nails raked my sore legs to try to relieve the itch but left only a burning row in its wake. Did I slough on cream I was allergic to, my face burning in response? I tossed in bed. Opening my eyes I saw that the dawn had entered my room—what time was it? Had I slept at all? My legs radiated a fire and begged for more scratching. Like a yearning for a bad drug, my growing rash needed to be fed. It didn’t matter the repercussions I would feel in ten, twenty minutes, I just needed that quick fix…

On no sleep and extremely uncomfortable I went into work. I was quickly sent on my way out to the nearest hospital. “Just get better,” they called as I whimpered out to my motorbike.

“Okay. Uh-huh. Now, uh-huh I give you injection for stop rash.” The skin doctor told me sympathetically. I had already been to the general doctor who had directed me to see the skin specialist I was with now and a chest, throat and ear specialist afterward for my deep and quickly becoming, chronic cough. A consultation with the skin specialist in the pseudo spa inspired aesthetics center had already led me downstairs for an allergy test. They didn’t tell me it was going to be a gallon syringe to milk the blood from my tiny and delicate veins. Getting blood drawn, one of my most dreaded doctor appointment necessities was over in a matter of minutes and before I knew it, I was already halfway up the stairs to return to the skin center.

“Okay,” I answered meekly standing across from her awkwardly. Am I supposed to sit? And sit where? Do I sit on the table? I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Should I wait for them to motion me? What is the Thai doctor- patient protocol? My lowered gaze snuck up to catch the shadowlike nurse’s knowing smile. I dropped my backpack to the floor and surveyed the surroundings. A small round table and two chairs made up the consulting area we had occupied earlier when the blood test was decided. The hospital bed in the room wasn’t your typical sterile white cot, either. This one was covered with a Thai-inspired tapestry with little face pillows and a contrasting throw at the foot. Was this where I was supposed to sit? It looked more like I’d be getting acupuncture or my eyebrows plucked than a medical examination in this room.

“Do you want, uh-huh, the throat doctor for, uh-huh, the cuff?” The Doctor faded back into the audible foreground. “I tink, uh-huh, is bad. Need different anti-biotic, uh-huh.” Her mouth continued to move as the audio faded out of my mind again. I couldn’t help but focus on this shot I was about to get... an injection! A needle! Somewhere on my body. Half-listening I decided to make a move toward the spa bed. As I climbed up she continued to talk of my cough and who I should see. But all I could think about is this shot. This shot, an injection, a needle! How big will it be? Where is it going to go?

Interrupting her rant I asked, “Where do I get the shot?” I just had to know. I couldn’t wonder any longer. Half of me knew where it was going to go; I just didn’t want to believe it. I can’t remember how she answered me, maybe it was the shock of realization that has made it flee my memory, but she told me—the butt. I audibly mumbled, “Oh, God,” as I began to lower myself to the bed.

“If you want, you can take only tablet. Uh-huh. And no injection, uh-huh. But I think uh-huh, better injection, uh-huh. More quickly.” I groaned in arrogance as I lay on my stomach, face planted in the soft pillow. “I tink, uh-huh, it okay.” She tried to console my dread. Yeah, sure Lady. It’s not going to be you with the sore bum. The shadow nurse swooped in and began to hike up my skirt to expose my rashed left cheek. As I felt the cool air on my exposed bottom, I could only mumble half-reassuring words to myself: It’ll be quick. It’ll be better. This will help. It won’t hurt. The nurse who had drawn my blood earlier had been like an angel, some sort of magical needle angel who could draw mass amounts of blood without any pain or prick. My faith was up. I was ready to rid myself of this hell if it took a little stab in the backside.

I imagined myself detatched from my own body looking in on the situation. How funny it would be to an outsider! The shadow nurse in her pale blue uniform would be smoothing the contrasting blanket over my legs so that it folded perfectly. The doctor at the chrome counter top would be filling a syringe with liquid and holding it up to the fluorescent light. And me, my head buried face first in the pillow or sneaking a peek at myself in the mirror at my head reflecting the absolute horror I felt. And in the center of it all, one spotted red cheek rising out of a mound of black flower printed fabric. It was like some sort of demented painting.

I did everything I could to avoid looking at the needle. If I didn’t see it, I couldn’t freak out; although, my imagination did picture it as an arm-length ice pick dramatically spurting liquid from the top as she rounded the corner of the hospital bed and approached my vulnerable rump.

“Okay, uh-huh. Injection.” She cooed as a sharp pain pierced my backside. Just as I thought, This isn’t so bad, a heat began to burn, spread and pierce.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” I moaned under my breath. It lasted only a few moments, the end of which left me paralyzed on the bed holding the burning area.

“You can sit for a moment,” the doctor reassured me as I, still frozen, made no attempt to do otherwise. After a respectable amount of stillness I rose and rolled onto my right hip to hop off the bed. I rubbed the pain with the heel of my hand, caressing the sore area. It swelled with heat and tingled with the surge of medicine. Golly, that was fun. But I knew I had more doctors to see.

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“The Doctor will see you now.” A small, white-uniformed nurse half-whispered to me. I put down my paper Dixie cup of coffee-mocha and grabbed my bag. Time to solve this chronic cough.

The chest, throat and ear specialist encouraged me to get an X-ray of my sinuses. Erik’s voice kept ringing in my head: “Just do whatever it takes to figure out what’s wrong.” However, my mind automatically went to my pocketbook.

“Miss McGill?” A petite nurse in white uniform asked me shyly as I sat sipping what was left of my free coffee-mocha blend.

“Yes.””Please come wit me.”

“Ooookay,” I said cheerily as I scooped up my bag once again and followed her. Now filled with farangs, I walked through the hospital’s first floor watching as they scarfed down large cups of cappuccinos at the small café. Suckers, I thought as I tasted the sweet cream still on my tongue. My escort was joined by another nurse and like flying geese we breezed through the lobby in patient-nurse formation. At a fork in our path the two split. Which nurse was mine? They both looked exactly alike from behind: white skirt suit, black poufy hair bow. Was mine the tall one or the short one? I chose to follow the one that branched off to the right and glanced at the other as she went left. She held some sort of Tupperware container and I knew I had chosen wisely.

Feeling a little high from the cortisone injection I was led into a small room by a sharply dressed man. “You sit here. Put nose to da’ line.” I sat on the cool metal stool, my left cheek slightly hanging off. “Like dis,” he lifted my head and stuck my nose, bridge down, against the red cross on a white screen. “Hold still.” He instructed as he backed away from me. Huh, what do you know? No heavy apron here either, just pure radiation surging through my body. Great guess we’ll add cancer to this coupling. After the second x-ray I returned to the doctor where I sat waiting, another Dixie cup of coffee-mocha in my hand. Hey, I’m going to get something out of this even if it is only six free cups of coffee.

After a briefing from the specialist on the causes of sinus infections and what a clouded sinus looks like in an x-ray, I left him. I walked towards the pharmacy/cashier with a shopping list of anti-biotics, anti-histamines, decongestants, saline nasal wash, expectorants and other anti- this and that’s. I forked over an obscene amount of money, of which I probably wouldn’t have in the states but had to in a foreign country just because I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t pick and choose what I wanted and what I didn’t want at this point, I was just too desperate to heal. They had me by the bum, and nose, and throat and went in for the pocketbook kill.

I walked out of the hospital and into the thick air to my motorbike. I had two follow-ups scheduled for the next week and a little hope tucked away in the goody bags of prescriptions given to me by both specialists. I couldn’t wait to start to feel better.


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Update:
I had to go into the hospital again on Friday. The rash was driving me insane! I have never felt so uncomfortable and irritated. It tingles with itch and I think I may be losing my mind. I can’t sleep and lay awake counting imaginary sheep until my alarm clock tells me it is time to get up. My allergy test came back and turns out I’m not allergic to any of the 40 listed items whether its beetroot, cats, or Australian tree mixes. So, that’s nice to know. Now if I could just figure out how to get rid of this damn rash. I look like Freddy Kruger and may have to only come out at night.

Washed all my clothes, sheets, towels over again and stopped using moisturizer. Pray for me.

On a good note… I can smell (kind of) again. Yeah! Now I wear a sweet white painter’s mask when I drive. Yeah, I’m hip. Go back to see that doctor Weds. Can you really develop asthma just like that?

Positive thinking… positive thinking.