I apologize for this abrupt post. But I may as well get right into it. I'll go back later and tell stories about lakes and boats and pagodas and north face bags and goats and snow white dogs. But this seems to me more immanent and thrilling, so I'm going to tell this story.
The problem is now I've built it up, and I'm going to take it in a different direction.
I don't like needles.
I just don't.
If I were to name some of my biggest fears, having an IV would be on that list.
When I was little it took three nurses, the doctor, and my mom to hold me down and give me shots, and the only reason they don't have to anymore is because I've learned self control and yogic breathing techniques, not because the panic has gone away.
I've never come across a mean doctor or dentist, but I still hate going to see them. Not because I don't want to be healthy or I don't like the wax paper on the beds or silly paper dressing gowns they give you that are really more of a hassle than anything else and I still can't figure out how to work them, but because there is a possibility that I will be injected with something via needle.
I also think I have a normal to high pain tolerance, but thats when it comes to things like falling on gravel or twisting an ankle, not needles.
Something also must be said about ice cream.
I love ice cream.
Its wonderful.
I have not only an abiding love of ice cream for its intrinsic goodness, but also I attach sentimental value to ice cream.
See, I went to high school where the winters are long and the lone wolf howls in the ice of night. This means that ice cream shops close as all creatures burrow into their dens.
But Spring! Spring is the season of joy and mud and wearing summer clothes before its actually warm enough to AND ice cream.
This all just needs to be understood and remembered for future reference.
And now for the story.
Pokhara Nepal is a beautiful place. Right on a lake, its touristy but quiet, with an excellent variety of eating establishments, cafes, cuisines, and often with terraces. My friend had come to visit me and here we were, enjoying a lovely evening of Thai food, sangria, and apple crisp (we're multicultural, so what?) in what we agreed to be the coolest interior designing of a restaurant that could be found in Nepal. Upon departing we went to a bar for about fifteen minutes before setting off for our hotel at the late hour of eight thirty.
What thus ensued was a joyous night of vomiting on my part. Initially this was thought to be caused by the fact that I had more than one drink that night, which means thats a lot for me. But regardless I didn't feel well enough to go for our two day one night trek that we had earlier planned for the next day. As the day continued however, and I proved unable to keep down tea, it became apparent that this was plain and simple not a hangover.
I resisted going to the doctor for as long as I could. No one wants to go to a doctor in a foreign country, but it had to be done.
Diagnosis: Food poisoning.
Nice to have a diagnosis but also confusing, as we had both eaten from each others food, and I had been weak in bed throwing up for 24 hours and James is right as rain. I really didn't care. But later we discovered it. Walking back from the bar my overwhelming affection for ice cream drove me towards one of the many shops along the lake. Apparently they don't ever throw it out, they just wait until the ice cream is gone before getting a new one, so yes, I may have eaten months old ice cream from a store that primarily sold alcohol in Nepal. But back to the story.
The doctor gave me the choice of oral or IV antibiotics. Knee jerk reaction I chose oral, despite that I couldn't keep down crackers. My fear of needles was still overwhelming.
In the morning, however, when the oral antibiotics failed, back to the doctor we went and back to the place where I would assuredly get poked with needles. At that point I wanted to go.
In 24 hours at the clinic I was set free feeling so very much better. James gets lots of kudos for taking care of me for about three days even when I was corpse-like and gross and holding my hand when I got shots and IVs (for the record there were three needles involved in all of this). He even took pictures of dogs he could see from the window when I couldn't get up and see and stayed with me in the clinic nearly every moment and would only consent to call my mother after force feeding me soup. So I can't really do justice.
Needless to say my feelings towards ice cream are now necessarily mixed.
