Upset Stomach.

**Do not read this post if you have a weak stomach. You were warned.**

In my previous post I wrote about several team members dealing with a “nasty stomach thing” – I also suffered greatly with the nasty stomach thing. It is a memory I am trying to forget. It was that bad. I will tell you the story because it will be funny and entertaining to you (whilst it still brings out a little bit of anger and bitterness in me) … and well, we all know your entertainment is what I am here for!

On this trip the team stayed in host homes (members of O’s church). The four team members from Kentucky and one translator stayed in one house and the doctor, his wife, myself and the other translator stayed in the other. Take note that I am living in the house with all nationals. In the wee hours of Tuesday morning I woke up to N throwing up in the sink in the shower room. Not long after that I found out that V and J were also taking turns throwing up at the other house. At this point, we did the scramble dance – found some other translators and pushed forward with the clinic for the day.

All day I felt kind of gross … my stomach hurt, I was nauseated and sometimes I felt dizzy and light headed. At lunch I ate rice and mystery meat, some tomatoes and cucumbers and I had a Sprite; thinking I just needed to eat and get some nutrition in me. It did not help – I maintained a level just below actively throwing up my guts the rest of the afternoon. At dinner I ate two bites of crab salad, drank some tea and quietly wished to myself that I could stick my finger down my throat and put an end to my misery. That was where the battle really was; I wanted to throw up and be done but I knew the conditions of the bathroom at my host home and the idea of holding my head anywhere near the toilet simply made me more nauseated.

I got back to the house where I was staying about 21:15 and took some antibiotics that the nurses from Kentucky had give me – thinking I could ward off the bacteria in my gut and the sinus infection developing in my head. That was all it took … those few quick gulps of water to swallow the pills sent my stomach into over drive and I barely made it to the toiled before I lost all the contents of my stomach. I have never thrown up with such force in my entire life. Never. It was so bad vomit was coming out my nose and tear ducts. After several minutes of retching over the wretched toilet and having to actually touch it; I felt so much better!

When I returned to the kitchen I was greeted by a panel of every national in my house. When the doctor looked at me and said “sit down, we have some medicine you need to take,” I should have just run. I should have run as fast and as far as I could. They had two packets of medication. One was a white powder and the other was a package of dark coloured pills. The instructions were to take the black pills and drink a concoction of boiled water with the powder mixed in. “What is all that stuff,” I asked? What ensued was a mixed up, messy effort of communication between a sick, American girl who speaks next to no Russian or Ukrainian and a bunch of exhausted non-English speaking Ukrainians and English as a third language translators. I finally pieced together that the black pills were charcoal pills and the panel of national experts were insistent that the white powder was “gatorade like” in that it would replenish the electrolytes and fluids in my body.

I felt bad and was beyond exhausted so in my frailty of mind I compromised. There was NO way I was going to take charcoal pills … I agreed to drink the liquid that would help me stay hydrated.

It took 45 minutes to make the concoction and then they told me I had to “drink a cup of it and wait to see if I threw up; if I did not throw up drink some more.” Those were the only directions I got as the whole entire rest of the house went to bed and left me sitting at the kitchen table with a terrible headache, a stomach ache, completely exhausted – holding a cup of lukewarm salt water. It was at this point I finally let myself cry. I just wanted my Mum. I drank the glass of disgusting fluid and headed to bed. I will admit that was all I had ever planned on drinking – one cup – that is all.

About ten minutes later I was throwing up again. I exited the toilet only to come face to face with A (the woman we were staying with) holding another cup of the drink. “Here, you need to drink this. It is good for you; it will make you feel better.” I tried to refuse but I had little strength to resist. I drank it and went to bed. About fifteen minutes later I was throwing up again. I managed to make it back to the bed without A catching me with a cup of the awful drink and I settled down and drifted off to sleep. Only about thirty minutes later A was waking me up with a cup of the liquid. “Drink” was the only command I got that time. We played this routine most of the night. Each time A made me drink, I would shortly have to return to the bathroom to empty the deepest depths of my stomach and then my bowels. I would throw up until I knew there could be nothing left in me. At one point I thought I would just throw up my intestines, I was dry heaving so bad.

I had enough. When A woke me up again at 3:45 to drink some more I got a little upset. I told her I did not want to drink any more, in fact I would not drink anymore. Every time I drank that awful stuff I would throw up. Then she looked at me and very clearly said “of course, it is supposed to make you throw up.” Excuse me?! Did you just say what I think you said?! It is supposed to make me throw up? “Yes,” she said “to help you get the bad things out of your body.” At the point there was murder in my heart! I could think of nothing nice towards my fellow house mates and I actually wished bodily harm on them (it was a weak moment … sue me). I could only conclude that they had given me some sort of ipecac in powder form. After a night of pain and suffering, it took several days for my strength and kind attitude to return – about the time we left.