the low point

Pat in healthier times, rowing a boat at Indira Gahndi Park in Hyderabad

Pat had come home from school Saturday afternoon looking pale, and asked for some Tylenol. That was when I knew I was in trouble. If my husband asks for Tylenol it's got to be pretty bad. He perked up briefly before his fever spiked dramatically and kept rising - even after a second dose of Tylenol. When his temperature reached 104 sometime after 11pm, I decided it was time to take action. I called Sudha and asked her to take us to the hospital. Ten minutes later a posse of neighbors arrived to assess the situation. I know they all meant well, but they did not believe that Pat could be that bad off. "Just a little fever." They said. When I protested that he was in serious shape, they wanted to retake his temperature, and have him "just take rest". I finally had to put my foot down. "No! " I commanded, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. "He is getting worse by the minute, he needs to see a doctor!" After some further consulting we finally set out for the nearest hospital.

The streets were amazingly quiet, even the cows had called it a night. It was such a contrast from the congestion of the daylight hours. The hospital too was quiet at this hour. Unlike Emergency Rooms in the US, we walked in the door, greeted the doctor and got down to business. No paperwork, no triage, no waiting. Pat, burning with fever, was pointed toward a gurney in the corner. As he went to lay down on the stained sheet he disturbed a large moth that fluttered up and resumed it's rest on the splash stained wall. My confidence started to plummet as my stress level rose. Oh God, how did I get here? I would have given anything for a sheet of that annoying crinkly paper for Pat to lie on.

Vitals were taken and discussion commenced about food borne illness. I was starting to percolate with anxiety. The doctor hadn't even examined Pat but had already made his diagnosis?!?! "Is there any chance this could be meningitis?" I pleaded "Or a mosquito borne virus?" I just couldn't accept this diagnosis so quickly. After all we had eaten almost all the same foods and we drink the same water.

"No." The doctor said flatly. "No chance, Madam. He is exhibiting all of the classic symptoms of water and food borne illness. This is very common here." Our helpful neighbors who accompanied us to the ER seemed confused by my inquiry, they, after all thought he had just a little fever. The doctor explained that, unlike in India, in the US a fever like Pat's is uncommon, and meningitis is always a suspect.

Pat got a shot to reduce the fever and a shot of antibiotics, as well as an IV to restore fluids. As I sat with him we quietly laughed at the absurdity of our situation. It's 1:00am. We are in India in a reputable hospital Emergency Room lying on a stained sheet in the corner of a cluttered room. Our doctor is gently mocking our worry, and chuckling that we do not know illness like the Indians. The moth, still present, flutters by to perch on the broken venetian blinds. We are a long way from home.

Despite my initial lack of trust, our doctor is very competent and quite friendly. As it turns out, he had spent time in the US so he understood our anxiety as well as our expectations. Once things had settled down a bit he said: "I like your country very much, but the food is not good. You cannot even get a good masala." Indians are proud of their cuisine, and rightfully so. I had to agree with the good doctor, a good masala is hard to come by.

While Pat rested with his IV, I was instructed to go to the 2nd floor Pharmacy to replace the medicines that had been administered (I brought new drugs and needles back down in a bag to be shelved). While I was gone Pat overheard the nurse comment on how big Eli was. To which the doctor replied: "That is their race." Which gave us a good laugh.

Two hours later we were headed home. Pat, while still very ill, was improving. My anxiety was ebbing - and exhaustion was setting in. By morning the fever broke, but Pat, still weak spent the day in bed, finally emerging at dinner time to check his email. As exhausted as I was, I was also hugely relieved. While I wouldn't have wished this on my worst enemy - I was grateful that it was Pat and not one of the children who suffered this fate.