Sick in Budapest

Ow.

My eyes fly open. Still dark outside, still dark in the room. This isn’t my dorm.

Ow.

My classmate’s breathing is heavy, almost a snore. I crunch in on myself instinctively. My stomach hurts. Not cramps. Nausea? Maybe.

When I stand, the darkness spins. I can’t find the bathroom light. No matter.

I kneel, just in case, and I sweat, and my body flashes hot-cold-hot-cold. I don’t throw up, though. It just hurts.

Go back to sleep? Not likely. I’m sweaty now. I rest my forehead on the lid. It’s cold.

Wake up my classmate? I don’t know her that well. I don’t want to annoy her. Ow.

Wake up my professor? I hesitate. He’s my advisor. I don’t want him to see me like this.

Do nothing? Now that’s promising. Love that idea. I could sleep here, on the floor. Smooth.

Ow.

No, I can’t. Bad plan. I get up, and it’s too hot. My stomach hurts. My suitcase doesn’t have anything helpful in it. I don’t get sick. Check the time. It’s 05:00. Maybe the front desk is open. Maybe they have something. Tums. Pepto-Bismol. A tranquilizer. Ow.

Okay. Good. We have a plan. Ow. Good plan.

Grab my key card. Grab the free robe. Shoes? No, I don’t want to bend down. Light from the hallway streams in when I open the door and now my head hurts. My stomach twangs and I have to lean on the doorframe. The door closes more hard. More loud. The hallway is dizzy.

Where is the front desk? Downstairs, I think.

I do not remember the stairs. The stairs are gone. My stomach hurts. There’s a woman at the desk on her phone. She looks tired. I’m also tired. I feel bad for bothering her.

She looks up when I put my hand on the desk, and her expression shifts from annoyed to concerned. She’s older than I thought when I was walking down. She reminds me of my mom.

I miss my mom.

When I go to explain what’s wrong, the words come out messy and slurred, and when she responds, I don’t understand. Oh yeah. Hungarian. I should have been paying attention when Daria was looking at the phrasebook on the plane.

I mime as best I can. My stomach hurts. I think she understands. Maybe. She picks up the hotel phone and makes a call. My arms are shaking on the counter. Ow.

When she’s off the phone, she comes over to me and has me sit down in a chair that seems to appear behind me. It’s nice to sit. I’m so tired. She pats my arm. My face is damp. She gives me some water and it hurts to swallow. She fetches me a trashcan and I throw it back up.

Another woman comes through the doors a time later. Vaguely familiar. Dr. Crenza introduced us. She’s part of the study abroad program. Her name escapes. Big, concerned smile. More Hungarian. The front desk lady retreats back into her desk. New lady smiles broadly and tells me something. Maybe English? I don’t think it matters that I don’t understand. I gesture to my stomach. My wince is real. She nods sympathetically. She helps me up.

I lay in the back of the car. My stomach hurts. My body is sore. She glances back in the mirror. Ow. It hurts. The turns are too much. Short drive. Less than three minutes.

We get out. I’m going to throw up. I crumple out of the car and throw up. When I go to apologize, the lady shakes her head. She helps me up into a bright white room. Too bright. It’s dizzy in here. Emergency room. Familiar enough, even in a different country.

Everything happens so fast and so slow. My stomach hurts forever and forever and always. The minute we sit down in the uncomfortable chairs, another woman comes and gets us. She argues with my lady, and my lady loses. She pats my head again and wipes the sweat from my forehead. I want my mom. My lady pulls out her phone. Maybe calling the hotel. Maybe calling Dr. Crenza.

The new lady helps me to my feet. Nurse? I don’t understand what she’s saying. My stomach hurts. She leads me back to another room, and my lady can’t follow. Climbing onto the bed feels bad. She offers me a pill and I shake my head. I’ll throw it up. She offers me water. I do take the water. Sip it tentatively. It doesn’t sit well. My body is still hot-cold. I want my shirt off– the nurse helps me, helps me into a gown. Lets me keep my pyjama pants for now.

Thermometer in my ear. She frowns when she takes it out. Doesn’t bode well. She hands me a plastic bag and I don’t get to ask why before I throw up again. Check the time. 05:15. Close to the hotel. Must be connected to the university. Still sweaty. The blood pressure cuff velcro scratches my arm. I feel bad for getting it sweaty too.

The nurse pats my head sympathetically and turns around to enter something into her tablet. Ow. It’s swimming in here. My stomach hurts. I’m more awake now, even if I can’t think right. I didn’t eat anything weird. I didn’t eat hardly anything at all after the flight. Dehydration? Maybe.

When the nurse turns back around, she offers me the pill again, with the water. She helps me sit up, helps me take it. My stomach still hurts. The nurse says something to me– I can’t hear it, but it’s comforting. I want to lie down, but she puts pillows behind my back. Ow. She puts a washcloth over my forehead. Now my face is more damp than before. More water now that I’m sitting up.

She gives me a soft smile, dims the lights. I’m so tired. I miss my mom. I miss my house, my bed. The pillows are too soft. Something smells like bile. My stomach still hurts, but I’m too tired for it. The nurse spreads a blanket over me. Props my head up for another tiny sip of water. Check the time. 05:25. She says something to me and I pretend it’s my mom telling me to go to sleep. I relax into the damp sheets. Still hurts. But it’ll be okay. Twenty-five-minute foray. Back to sleep.