Terrible Typhoid.

The week leading up to the moment I stepped foot onto Virgin America Fight 935 to SFO was really, really shitty. I mean that literally, but I'll spare you the details.

I worked overtime right up to the 30^th in LA, trying to make as much spending money for India as was possibly manageable in a two week time frame. I gave myself the freedom to deay preparing for India while I was still in LA because I had so much work on my plate. My mind wasn’t to be focused the trip until the 30^th, and then I would have almost a week to figure everything out. That seemed like plenty of time, as I already had lists of what I wanted to bring for clothing and what I wanted to get from around town figured out.

On June 30th, I had to move all of my belongings from my beloved apartment in Westwood, Los Angeles, to where my parents are temporarily living in Orange County. Like every other poor college student, I couldn’t afford proper moving boxes, so everything I own (extensive stationary making supplies, sewing, an embarrassingly large assortment of trinket boxes, plenty of picture frames, office supplies, musical instruments and a few hefty stacks of books included) was piled awkwardly in large white plastic trash bags and stuffed so tightly into the back of the Jeep that the doors almost wouldn’t close.

Moving always sucks, but this particular move was especially tricky because there was no destination for all of my belongings other than the floor in the small garage studio my parents are temporarily staying in Orange County. It took me days to get everything looking presentable in their little place because there was simply nowhere to hide my clothes or my silly personal effects. Clothes are folded and stuffed in the back of cabinets, shoes are in bookshelves, books are under the bed, toiletries are hidden like easter eggs in different draws in every room besides the bathroom… And from this pecular storage system, I packed for India.

Packing turned out to be so easy that it was hard to believe. One trip to target and everything on my list was accounted for. My suitcase was practically a small pharmacy. I was prepared for everything- enough tampons to last me four months, hats, sunglasses, office supplies, my trusty little powershot camera, some batteries, adapters, mosquito nets, two types of bug spray… I mean, I had everything accounted for. All of this was done by the 2^nd of July- giving me a whopping 4 days to chill before the trip. I can’t express how impressive that is for such a last minute, chaotic spaz like me.

What I did not prepare for was a little thing called Typhoid. I have an accumulating history of allergic reactions and general side effects from drugs, I should have seen this coming. I took my first Typhoid pill the night I moved out of Westwood, the 30^th. The next day, after running simple errands with friends I suddenly felt absolutely exhausted and had to excuse myself to go home and nap, something I’ve never really had such a sudden urge to do before. I went to sleep at 4:40 and woke up at 7:30 keeled over in body aches and a fever that didn’t break until the next morning. A migraine set in that morning that didn’t completely quell until I found myself plugged into an IV in the emergency room on the 4^th of July.

My primary physician assured me when I told her about my beginning side effect symptoms that they were normal and should just be endured throughout the vaccine, so I dutifully swallowed those pills as I got sicker and sicker it seemed by the hour. Before I knew it, it was the morning of the 3^rd of July, my favorite day of the year. Every year on the evening of the 3^rd I get together with a handful of friends from high school that I only see twice a year (Christmas and the 3^rd of July)  to roast marshmallows, voyage midnight canoe rides in the harbor, sleep in blanket forts, and wake up early on the 4^th of July to bike around in obnoxiously patriotic swag to celebrate America’s birthday.

All day I tried to work up the gumption to grin and bear the nasty ‘side-effects’ and go out to at least make an appearance at my favorite annual sleepover tradition. I kept moving between my bed and the couch trying to convince myself that I could make the 45 minute drive and just hang out for a few hours and drive back that night for a good sleep in. But as afternoon became evening and evening became night, my ‘side-effects’ became unbearable. They stacked up on top of each other like an evil tower of death, and eventually found myself curled up on the bathroom floor withering in pain and panicked by the sheer intensity of my bodily functions.  I let my boyfriend relay the message that I couldn’t make it to the beach house sleepover and my mom scooped me up to take me to the ER.

Within an hour and a handful of tests (bloodwork is the bane of my existance), the ER doctor told me that I should not take a Typhoid pill ever again. Around 2 out of every 100 people who take the Typhoid vaccine end up contracting the full-fledged virus itself- I beat the odds. Lucky me. She gave me potassium pills the size of salt licks, plugged more fancy medicine in my IV then either my mom or I can remember, and by the time my mom and I drove home at 6am on the morning of the 4^th, I could actually sleep in a different room than the toilet. And sleep I did.

I must admit, during the couple days I spent with Typoid, I dreaded India. I felt this strange defeat, hypocrisy almost- as if I was being asked to put my money where my mouth was for all these years and that I wasn’t up for it. I was afraid- I felt sick and some how associated the sickness with India, like I was being warned of how things were going to be. I didn’t tell anyone, but at times I wished something out of my control would prevent me from going.

It wasn’t until the afternoon of the 4^th, when both my mom and I stumbled out of our beds onto the couch confused by the time and what we had just gone through, and I felt alleviation from pain for the first time in four days, that my general excitement for India crept back into my system. I could see the light in being healthy again, I knew I would feel better by the time I got on that long flight to Hong Kong and I could breathe easy. I was going to India, and I was going to be okay.