Days 45 & 46: The Hospital of Safety

So... I don't think I could have gotten a decent post out yesterday if my life depended on it. I'm sure those of you who already know the story have already forgiven me, but for those of you who don't... just wait. I'm going to start at the beginning though, so it may take a while fore me to get going.

Yesterday morning I woke up, as usual, but couldn't for the life of my get out of bed, despite it being a later day. I skipped breakfast and pressed my snooze button until I only had half an hour to shower and get ready. I did it, but it was cutting it close.

In the dar, it turned out I had no need to rush. Ustaaz Immad had gotten us an appointment at the orphanage that I later found out he used to volunteer at. That little tidbit of information actually explains a lot about him. He's the kind of guy you'd expect to be volunteering with orphans in his spare time. He's just that kind hearted.

Anyway, we had to wait for everyone from class to gather, and a few people had business to take care of before we left, so we ended up sitting around idly for a bit. And in this idle sitting, I started to not feel so well. One of the girls in our class had gotten sick the day before, so I was a little worried I had what she had, but I was really excited about going to the orphanage, so I sucked it up. In hindsight, not my best choice.

The bus was chosen as our optimal choice of transportation, seeing as there were seven of us. The problem with buses is they're lurchy. I swore I was going to throw up at least twice, but somehow, mind over matter or something, I managed to keep it down. An Alexandria city bus is not somewhere you want to get sick.

But eventually we made it to the orphanage where we met the sweetest woman who was in charge. We sat in her office with her for a while, my stomach in knots, as she told us about the orphanage.

Egyptian orphanages are a little different than American ones, mostly because Egyptian families are so large and close knit. Egyptians tend to grow up with all of their aunts and uncles like second parents, so if a parent dies, there's almost always another family member to take them in. As such, the orphanage is full of children who, rather than not having parents, usually have parents who can't afford to take care of them.

The other reason children might be in an orphanage has to do with religion. By Egyptian law, children inherit the religion of their fathers. Normally, this isn't an issue, because Muslims tend to marry Muslims and Christians tend to marry Christians. However, in the case of a Christian and a Muslim having a baby, if that Christian and Muslim ever split, the child is bound to the father and not the mother. As you can imagine, if the father decides to move away for work or something, as is within his right, that doesn't make the mother very happy.

The solution is often that they put the child in an orphanage of the necessary religion so that the mother can still see her child. The orphanage we visited was Christian, and the director told us that they tend to integrate religion into all facets of life. So it's a big deal.

The orphanage itself was quite nice. They have a large yard to play in and a gym and communal computers. There are forty-seven boys living there at the moment, from first grade up through university. The younger ones were at the beach for the day with some volunteers, but we got to meet some of the older ones. They were all very kind and polite, even inviting the boys in our class to come back and play soccer sometime.

It was a nice visit, or would have been, if my body wasn't inclined to hate me.

All through the directors talk in her office I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to hear what she had to say, but all of my attention was focused on my stomach. About half way through the meeting, I thought I'd found a godsend. One of the other women working there bought in a tray of sodas for us, including sprite zero. And sprite always makes upset tummies feel better, right?

Nope, not right at all.

I thought it might have been just because it was zero, and not regular, even though I realize that's ridiculous now. When you're panicking over keeping down phantom stomach contents (because remember I hadn't eaten that day) you're not exactly thinking straight. At one point, while another student was asking a question, I actually got up and headed for the door. I didn't want to throw up in the lovely woman's office. I made it to the lobby before I realized I didn't know where I was going, but by then I was able to keep it down.

The director had followed me, so I asked for a bathroom, hoping I could throw up in private, feel better, and continue with the visit. No such luck. For some reason, in the tiny bathroom, I couldn't get anything up. So I washed my hands and went back to the meeting.

The tour after that was torture. There's no air conditioning in the orphanage, so I was hot as anything, sweaty, sticky, and of course none of that helps with an upset stomach. As they started to lead us to the gym, I had that sudden uncontrollable urge again, but was thankfully able to make it to a toilet, where I threw up more than I knew I could possible have in my stomach.

I was miserable, but the women were incredibly kind to me. They got me a bottle of water and helped me wash up. We left not long after that, and I was feeling a bit better, even though my stomach still hurt. My plan was to finish up classes for the day and then go take an anti-bacterial for my digestive track. Unfortunately I didn't get that far.

We were running a little late getting back from class because the orphanage was a little ways away, so the half of us that had afternoon classes decided we didn't have time for lunch and just went to the dar twenty minutes early. I didn't realize one person could get so much sicker in twenty minutes.

I nearly threw up twice, which would have been horrible, because the water was cut off in the building for that day. Meaning no toilets. Eventually I just gave up. Missing one Fusha class wasn't going to kill me, even if we were going over the new vocab that day. So I went to Ustaaz Nour, my eyes watering with a mixture of pain, dizziness, and the effort to speak and keep my stomach calm, and told him I was going back to the dorms.

He was very understanding about it, always is. And I had my homework to turn in, so it wasn't like I was skipping out just because I wasn't prepared. Robyn didn't ask any questions either. I wonder now if she was just being kind or if I really looked that bad. Either way, I didn't really care as long as I got out of there.

I managed to make it back to the dorms before throwing up again, but it was a mad dash from the elevator (I was in no condition to take the stairs) to the restroom, where I only made it to the sink. Thankfully, it was all liquid anyway. At least in the comfort of my own bathroom I was able to pause, take a few breaths, and wash my face. After which I changed in to pjs, tried to drink some sprite, and climbed into bed, praying for sleep. But that wasn't going to happen.

Over the next few hours I ran to the restroom no less than four times. The first to throw up the sprite, the second to throw up the pepto-bismol I'd taken after that, the third pure water, and the fourth the strongest anti-bacterial I had. I was miserable. Every single time was violent and messy.

At that point, I didn't know what to do. Clearly something was wrong, but I couldn't keep down anything that might make it better, and I definitely couldn't sleep it off. So I called Robyn, just to get her opinion, see if it was normal to be this violently ill. She didn't have any advice, but she did call some of the med students to come check on me.

While I was waiting for someone to show up, Habiba stopped by to set up a meeting. She took one look at me and got this horrified look on her face, like I was death warmed over or something. I managed to explain, sort of. Either way, she went and got someone, and with that someone and Robyn's someone, and everyone who was just attracted by the commotion, I had a party of Egyptians sitting in my room discussing what was wrong with me.

Someone gave me another type of pill at some point. I managed to keep it down for a bit, though I still don't know how. I think it helped, but I might have just been going through a down period.

Anyway, Robyn showed up a while after that, and we decided to go to the hospital, mostly because I was dying of thirst and obviously couldn't drink anything. I got my choice of the public hospital or the private one. The private one has better care, but it's also more expensive. Then again, health care is Egypt is a steal compared to America, and I have insurance, so I went with the better care.

They gave me an IV of fluid, first of all. Asked some questions, took my temperature and blood pressure, performed some tests. I think everyone figured it was bug. That's what I thought it was. Mostly I was just hoping they could inject me with a medicine I couldn't throw up. But if I've learned anything over the last few days, Egyptian doctors will go to great lengths to make sure they're right. Which is useful.

So, just as a precaution, they took an ultrasound. Yes, it was cold. Yes, it was sticky. It was a unique experience too, seeing as it's Egypt and they respect women's bodies way more than any doctor in America ever has. I didn't even have to put on a gown. They just rucked up my shirt as little as possible and went at it.

Anyway, as I was saying, it was a good thing they performed the ultrasound, because I, at the ripe young age of twenty, have a wide variety of over-sized gall stones. All that vomiting was a gall stone attack, go figure. And the back pain from where I thought I'd thrown out my back vomiting? Yeah, also part of the attack. Yay me.

Anyway, they got me an appointment with a specialist for the next morning, wrote me a couple prescriptions, and let me go. I'd only thrown up once in the hospital, so I kind of hoped I was getting better.

When I finally got back to the dorms I wasn't sure I'd left the hospital. Many of the Egyptian girls staying in the dorms over summer are in Med School, and almost all of them were anxious to show off their expertise. They were all wonderful though. You would think it would be annoying, having that many people hovering, but it was kind of reassuring just to know they cared. It was also helpful having them there to explain what all the big words on my ultrasound results meant. The results were in English, as most medical practice is in Egypt, but I have no idea what chronic calcular cholecystits or bilirubin means.

I wanted to go to sleep, but I was still sick, and I had to wait two hours to take my first medication. I called Mom and talked to her for a while, then watched a show I'd downloaded. It was doctor show, thankfully, and it made me feel tons better seeing all those poor patients worse off than I was.

I left the door unlocked all night so that the girls could poke their heads in and make sure I was breathing. I swear some of them were more concerned than Mom, which is saying a lot.

My appointment this morning was at ten, but appointments here don't work like appointments in the states. Ten means the doctor will be in at ten, and all the patients get a number when they make their appointment, and then he goes through them one by one. I was fourth in line. But if the doctor's there early, or other patients don't show up, you could be in in now time at all.

Either way, Robyn said she would meet me at the dorms at a quarter to ten. The hospital's only about a five minute cab ride away. I had no intention of getting up early, but I was still disgusting from the day before, so I planned to get up at nine and at least shower before the appointment. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

My head felt like a ball of lead when my alarm went off this morning. So I hit the snooze button until about 9:32. That gave me just enough to time to pee and brush my teeth before I had to run down and meet Robyn. Still gross.

At the very least I wasn't nauseous anymore. From what Mom's research has told me, gall stone attacks come and go. And from what the doctor's told me, they usually come from fatty foods. At this point I hadn't eaten in two days, so fatty food wasn't a danger.

We got the hospital, and of course there was a wait, but I'm good at waiting. I realized to late I'd forgotten to bring a book, but there were enough signs and diplomas and things on the walls for me to occupy myself deciphering. If nothing else, this whole episode was a great vocabulary builder.

The doctor, when we got in to see him, was a very nice man. I've heard that Egyptian doctors don't like to explain things, but he answered all of my questions without a problem, and when he laid out my options for me, he did it in great detail.

Basically, I need my gallbladder removed, end of story. The question was whether to do it here or back in America. Either place, it would be a laproscopic surgery, meaning that tiny little microscope and about three centimeter long incision points and almost no recovery time. It's cheaper in Egypt, but I have insurance, so that's not a big issue. In America, obviously, I would have the added benefit of my family, but it's a simple surgery, so while it'd be nice to have them around it's not really a necessity.

I needed to discuss my decision with Mom, of course, so I asked the doctor for some time to decide. He gave me the paper work for both options. Talking to Mom though, I realized something important. At this point, I actually have more confidence in the Egyptian doctors than the American ones. They'd certainly treated me better up to this point.

On that note, I'd like to make a side-bar. Some of you may know that back in America I was having stomach issues a couple months back. Anytime I ate, my stomach would hurt, especially when I ate fatty or greasy foods. I had a check up around the same time and I brought it up to Dr. Nguyen. She told me it was heart burn. I questioned her diagnosis, because I'd had heart burn before, and it didn't feel like heart burn, but she brushed me off and told me to by over the counter pills. Mom found out today the conversation wasn't even on record.

Those were my first gall stone symptoms, completely disregarded despite my wanting tests. On the other hand, here, throwing up in a country I expected to be throwing up in, they run a test just to make sure and find something potentially severe. The way Robyn put it, they'd rather cure you the first time than get your money the second.

Anyway, in case you hadn't figured it out I decided to go through with the surgery here. Doctors aside, if I didn't do the surgery here I'd be on a heavy pill and strict diet regimen for the rest of my time here, and I'd still be at risk for another attack. Frankly, I'd really rather enjoy my last two weeks here, and I really don't want to risk an attack on an airplane, because that would suck.

Anyway, after I made the decision we started running around the hospital: to radiology for x-rays, the lab for blood work, and then back to the doctor to find out what to do next. He said the entire surgery team had to approve my work-up before we could set a time for the operation, and the blood work wasn't going to be done until seven that night. So we set an appointment for eight.

Side-bar again, I love Egypt's since of time. I had a doctor's appointment at eight pm. Where else does that happen without an emergency? Everything is open here all the time and people don't think you're crazy for being up at four in the morning. It's awesome.

So, after the hospital, I was feeling a lot better. I went back to the dorms for a shower, and then had a light lunch of tomatoes, cucumbers, bread and white cheese. I also had a piece of baklava, which yes, has a little fat, but I only had one, and baklava's my favorite, and the dorms only have it once every three weeks. Also, it settled fine, so no problem.

Since I was still feeling alright, alright enough to go to class at the very least, I figured I'd best start on my homework for tomorrow. In Egpytian we had three movie clips that we had to watch and transcribe, but they were only on the computers in the dar, and we couldn't put them on a flash drive. As such, I headed over to the dar for our weekly meeting, and then hung out doing my homework.

I finished with the Egyptian around and headed back to the dorms for dinner. Bread, rice, and watermelon. They didn't have cheese this time. Sad face. Robyn showed up around seven and ate with us. Zeinab, one of my my friends who lives on my floor, had asked earlier in the day to go with me. Like I said, they're worried about me. As it turns out though, she thought I was having surgery tonight, and when she realized it was just a meeting didn't want to crowd the doctor.

Eman, one of the other med students, did come with us. I hadn't spent much time with her before, but she's certainly a sweetheart. She got into a playful argument with the taxi driver on the way there, insisting I was Egyptian and refusing to believe he couldn't see it. At the hospital she memorized my patient number, just in case, explained my blood results to me, and helped me translate some words while we were waiting.

We had to go down to the operating room to see the doctor. Apparently that's where he hangs out at night. He was there with the team, and meeting them was funny only from the way the doctor introduced me. They asked me if I wanted them to speak English and he interrupted, insisting with a smile that I spoke Arabic perfectly, but my English wasn't so good. One of the doctors spoke a lot of English anyway.

They said my stats were fine to go ahead with the surgery, and we scheduled it for nine in the morning on Saturday. I have to be at the hospital at eight, I have to fast after midnight the night before, and I have to take a shower either before I go to bed, or before six in the morning.

The last thing we did before leaving was check the price. I sprung for a single room, because it's only two hundred dollars more, and as much as I love them, Egyptians can be loud. I'm not going to post the price, because it's still a big number, but I know it's far cheaper than anything I would have gotten in America.

We stopped at the pharmacy once again on our way out. The specialist had given me a list of three medications; two of which I already had, but I needed the third. Only when I got back to the dorms with Eman (Robyn took a taxi home while we took the tram where we played with this adorable baby boy who kept blowing zerberts when Eman tickled his elbow), did I realize it was the exact same anti-bacterial the travel doctor prescribed me before leaving America.

When I realized, I ran it by Zeinab just to make sure, and while she assured me they were the same medicine, she told me I should take the American, just because it was American medicine and therefore better. I'd heard people say that was a stigma in Egypt, but it was funny hearing her say it so seriously. Meds are meds. Zeinab was, however, amazed by my pill bottle.

Everything in Egypt is over the counter, so everything comes in boxes like you get over the counter in America. When a doctor writes a prescription, it's basically just a list of medications. You don't need his permission to buy them, he's just suggesting them. It astounded Zeinab that you could get different amounts of pills, and she loved that the side effects came listed on the side of the bottle. I'll be finishing off the anti-bacterial pills in a day or two, so I promised she could have the bottle afterward. I'm considering emptying my prescription pain killers into a bag so she can have that bottle too.

Anyway, that's about it for the story. I feel like it might have been a little disjointed, but give me a break. I just went through an ordeal. People are still asking me how I am every five minutes, but I can honestly tell them I'm doing well now. Hopefully come Saturday I'll be even better.

Oh! And in explanation of the post title, the hospital I've spent the better part of two days at is called "Mustashfa Al-Salaama" which roughly translates to "The Hospital of Safety." I was trying to translate it for you guys before I started to post and... well, it doesn't really work. While salaama literally means safety, it has a lot of connotations having to do with peace and health and sometimes religion. Islam and salaama come from the same s-l-m root.

Well, that's it. It took me a long while to write this post, so now I'm tired, and going to bed. Good night everyone!