Thursday, 12th April 2007

To: Lilongwe

I left the house of Martha's kids and grandkids this morning. Before leaving, Honesta came back over and we had tea and bread. Rode down the escarpment back to the main rode. That escarpment really is pretty. I'd forgotten. Here is a picture of the road I was riding on.

Shortly after reaching the main road, I stopped in a place for a cold drink and a rest. I sat out on the veranda with my own thoughts. I was feeling a bit sad. Here I had been so excited when we reached Malawi with the TDA group. I remember the day that we crossed the border from Tanzania to Malawi. I had almost felt like I was "home". It was so, so exciting. I was even starting to imagine moving back to Malawi, maybe getting work at Chancellor college, in beautiful Zomba. Now, a week later, I was feeling like Malawi was a ghost country. All my friends were dead. O.k., not Nimia.

After I'd been sitting there for a little while, not feeling morose exactly, but just a bit sad, 3 professional looking men, a bit chubby with suits, drove up and went inside. I could hear them in there, chatting with each other, and 2 of them started a game of pool. I went inside to watch and asked if I could challenge. They said, "Sure." So, I ordered a beer (pool doesn't go with soda, some things are just like that and you can't fight it) and stood by the window, watching. The 3rd one started talking with me, asking about my journey, etc. (They could see my loaded down bike outside.) I told him I'd been up to Down to find an old, old friend of mine.

He asked, "Was she still there?"

I said, "Well, sadly, she passed away. Just one year ago."

Strangely enough, he was quite comforting, that man. He didn't just say, "Oh, I'm sorry." I could see in his eyes that he really did feel for me, and maybe for Malawi in general. Everybody is losing friends and family to AIDS. But we got philosophical about it and said things like, "Well, life goes on," and we really meant it, you could tell. Life DOES go on. Malawi is not a ghost country. There are lots of people, living, working, laughing, playing pool. He told me that he and his 2 friends were on their way to see another friend, who was in the hospital. I told him I hoped things would be o.k., and I meant it.

Then, somebody won, so I took my turn at a game of pool.

Then, all four of us went into another part of the bar and sat down and chatted about another 20 minutes. They bought me a beer. Finally, they said that they had to go see their friend. I said that, yes, I've got to go too, to get to Lilongwe before dark.

Funny enough, talking with those 3 people, whose names I never even got, made me feel like everything is o.k., just go on. When I got back out on the road, there was a nice breeze, perfect cycling weather. I rode the rest of the way to Lilongwe, humming most of the way.

(Went back to the plush Lilongwe Hotel - my god, I could *live* at that place! Haha.)

----------------------- TODAY -------------------- TOTAL

Cycled ----------------- 55 km (34 mi) ------------ 4,401 km (2,757 mi)

In Saddle -------------- 4 hours 6 min ------------- 289 hours 40 min

Ascended -------------- 920 feet ------------------ 77,010 feet

Wednesday, 11th April 2007

To: Dowa

Rode up to Dowa today. Wanted to find Martha for some great rejoicing! Rode up, up, up the escarpment. Very beautiful.

When I arrived in town, my heart was thumping. How exciting to be here! I recognized everything, it hadn't changed a bit. Only that the old market was no longer being used because the government had promised to revamp it. That had been 2 years ago, but the revamping hadn't started yet. So, ALL the market vendors were now just selling their stuff on the "main" road, making "downtown" Dowa very busy. (I love using terms like "main road" and "downtown" when describing Dowa. This is a very small village, accessed only by dirt road. Nonetheless, there is a hospital there.)


So, I arrived and saw a man sitting on a beer crate, having a Carlsburg, on the front porch of the PTC grocery store. I wandered over, parked my bike, and walked up the 2 or 3 steps to the porch.

I asked the man, "Excuse me, sir, may I ask some advice?"

With a friendly grin, he said, "Yes."

I said, "I'm looking for an old, old friend of mine. Her name is Martha Manda. Her husband works at..."

He interrupted, with a smile, "... at Action Aid. Mr. Manda was a security man at Action Aid."

I said, "Yes! That's right! Do you know them?"

He said, "I know them very well... and I know you too."

This shocked me. "Really? You remember me?"

He said, "How could I forget you? Didn't you used to work up there at Red Cross? You and your sister, Martha, used to go walking hand in hand through town, all the time. Always laughing." He grinned when he said that. He finished with, "I've lived here for a long time."

This was very exciting! I asked if he could direct me to Martha's house.

He said, "I'm sorry to say that Mr. Manda passed away. That was ... 3 years ago. After that, Martha moved back to her home in Nkhotakhota."

Well, I thought, that's o.k., I've been to that home before. It's over by the lake. I'll just follow her there. Not that I didn't care about Martha's husband, of course I did, but Martha was never too keen on him anyway. Apparently, after making a lot of money working in the coal mines in South Africa, he then came back to Malawi and spent it all entertaining girlfriends. Martha and I used to giggle and plot about how she was going to start a business, become independent, and dump him. We started a business together once, raising chickens, but it flopped. (Nonetheless, Mr. Manda was always very curteous and polite and nice to me - it was sad that he died.)

"But how can I contact her in Nkhotakhota?" I asked. "Does she have a neighbor or anybody with a phone?"

This man was so friendly, typical Malawian. He'd just been sitting there on that beer crate, passing the time, watching the world go by. But now that his services were needed, he was ready to help. He said, "Wait a moment. Her old neighbor is selling groundnuts at the market. Let me go find her and ask." So, he left his beer crate and I sat down on it and waited.

After about 10 minutes, he came back with Honesta! The neighbor to Martha! I knew her! She came walking up the steps, smiling widely, and said, "Leigh Anne! Leigh Anne!" with an embrace that lasted forever. We were both giggling.

Then, when she stepped back, she had tears as she started saying, "Martha... Martha...," and shaking her head. My heart sank and my eyes started swelling, but I waited for her to say it. She finally said it. "Martha ... anamwalira." She died. So there I was, twice in two days, crying. But at least this time it was with a friend, at least someone I knew, rather than with a random "medical person" whom I didn't even know. We hugged and embraced and cried and hugged and embraced and cried for a long time.

Finally, I asked, "Liti?" When? It was just one year ago, 15th Jan 2006. Apparently, she'd written me a letter, about 1 year before. Honesta said that she'd told her that she was going to write to Leigh Anne. I never received that letter and I wonder where it went. Probably to Dad's house, but maybe using an old address. I was thinking that if I'd just received that letter, or maybe if I'd just come a little sooner, I might have been able to help, with medicine. She had AIDS.

But then Honesta and I smiled to each other and she told me she couldn't believe it was really me, that she never thought she'd see me again. She and I had sat down on beer crates, and the friendly man who apparently knew me had also sat down, and we were chatting. Honesta was telling me that I'd have to come to the house, Martha's children are there, when a young man came riding by on his bicycle. He stopped his bike and walked slowly up the porch steps of the grocery store, looking at me. He grinned and said, "Leigh Anne?"

Surprised (who is this person, I thought?), I said, "Yes?"

He said, "Oh, no!" and cried and laughed at the same time as he came running the rest of the way up the steps. But he could see that I was confused. "I'm Blessings," he said, "Martha's son! Don't you remember me?"

I said, "Oh my God! Blessings!" and stood up and gave him a big hug (which embarrassed the 25-year-old, but I didn't care). When I first knew Blessings, he was just 10 years old. But now, he told me, he had a wife and children and they are all living in Martha's old house.

He insisted that I come spend the night. Honesta said, "I'll go close up my market stall and come. We'll talk and talk!" So, I went in the store and bought quite a few beers and lots and lots of sodas, knowing there'd be plenty of kids around, and some cooking oil and bread, and other essentials, and off we went.

When we got to the house, I remembered it right away. "My sister's house," I thought. "My sister's compound," I thought. "My sister's outdoor kitchen," I thought.

And then people started showing up, and I didn't always recognize them at first. Martha's daughter, Rose, now aged 21, and also married with children. Another son, Charles, also with children. They led me inside and I sat down and they kept bringing in children and putting them on my lap and saying, "This is your grandchild, son to Blessings," and "This is also your grandchild, daughter to Rose," and "Even this one. Another grandchild. Daughter to Blessings." And they kept saying to the children, "Wonani agogo." Look at your grandma. Here is a picture of Blessings and a few of the kids. And here is another picture of me with a couple of the "grandkids".

We had a party and a feast that night. Of course, they killed a chicken. Always makes me feel bad when they do that, when you know they can never eat chicken. But it was o.k., I knew they wanted to do it. Eventually, Honesta came and so did her husband. So did her daughter, Doreen, whom I only remembered as a baby on Honesta's back - but she was now 14.

We talked and laughed and told some stories about Martha and I told the one about when we had reached the ranks of sisterhood. I knew Martha pretty well, but had never slept at her place before. Then, I moved away from Down and down to Thyolo, in the southern part of Malawi. A few months later, I came back to visit and slept at her house for several nights. The first night, when it came time to sleep, Martha came to me with a bowl of water and said, "Leigh Anne, do you want to wash your feet?" I said, "No, that's o.k. I'm clean." Martha shrugged and we slept. The next day, we spent the whole day talking and laughing, fetching water and peeling potatoes. When it came time to sleep, Martha came with a bowl of water and said, "Achemwali, sambaani mapazi." Sister, clean your feet. She and I both laughed and laughed and I cleaned my feet. In one day, I had gone from "Leigh Anne" to "Sister" and she had gone from a polite question ("Do you want to wash your feet?") to a command ("Wash your feet.").

I leave you with one more picture of some folks in the house that night, including Rose, the daughter. It was a nice night, all things considered.

-------------------- TODAY ------------------ TOTAL

Cycled -------------- 46 km (29 mi) ----------- 4,346 km (2,723 mi)

Lift ----------------- 20 km (12 mi) ----------- 2,470 km (1,650 mi)

Total --------------- 66 km (41 mi) ------------ 6,816 km (4,373 mi)

In Saddle ----------- 4 hours 20 min ----------- 285 hours 34 min

Ascended ----------- 1,300 feet ---------------- 76,090 feet

Tuesday, 10th April 2007

Within Lilongwe

One of the things I love about Malawi is the proliferance of bottle openers. They are everywhere, attached to posts, on key chains, everywhere! You are never at a loss as to how to open a bottle. Here is an example of one in a chibuku bottle store. You see it there, attached to the counter, very conveniently placed?

Then, if there is not an official bottle opener, most Malawians have great bottle opening talents. Like, for example, using one bottle to open another. Or, for example, just opening with your teeth as Honesta's husband is doing in this photo. Honesta and her husband have been long time neighbors to Martha, from Dowa. That story is for tomorrow.

I decided to spend the day looking for my old friend, Colins, a.k.a Swivle Hips, who used to work as a radiologist at Kamuzu Central Hospital. Colins got the nickname Swivle Hips because of his great dancing ability. One time, Colins and I and Nimia and 2 other old Peace Corps buddies, we were all at the lake (Lake Malawi) for the weekend. We were sitting around at a bar, having some beers and chatting. An old man came by and wanted to sell something. It took a lot of deciphering to figure out that it was supposed to be a carving of a boat and paddle. It was very, very bad! In our good-spirited mood of the day, however, we decided, well, at least he's not begging. Trying to actually "earn" a living. So, Colins and I paid 1 kwacha each, for a total of 2 kwacha, for this carving. The others (Nimia and the 2 Peace Corps buddies) laughed at us. This was shortly before I left Malawi. So, we decided that Colins would keep the boat and me the paddle. That way, we'd always have a connection. A couple of times, we wrote letters and always asked, "Do you have the paddle?" "Do you have the boat?" Once, in 1998, I came to visit and Colins showed me his display of the paddle.

So, I went to where he used to live but he wasn't there any more. So, I started snooping around the hospital where he used to work. People said that he wasn't there any more, but most of the people I talked to hadn't been there long so they didn't remember him. Finally, I found another medical guy, named Mcpherson, who was nice. He hadn't been there long either, but said he'd ask around for me. When he came back, he had one of Colin's old classmates with him, who looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, sister. Your friend died. He was in a minibus accident, up north. It must have been shortly after you were here last. He died in 1999." I wasn't expecting this, but right there in the hospital, with lots and lots of people around, I started to cry. Only briefly, though. Then, I said, "I guess that's life, isn't it?" He said, "Yes. I'm sorry." Mcpherson gave me his e-mail and phone number. Somehow, I feel like keeping in touch with him, as though he can somehow be a replacement for good ol' Swivle Hips, which he can't, of course.

---------------- TODAY -------------------- TOTAL

Cycled (in LL)--- 24 km (15 mi) ------------- 4,300 km (2,694 mi)

In Saddle -------- 1 hour 45 min ------------- 281 hours 14 min

Ascended -------- 280 feet ------------------- 74,790 feet

Monday, 9th April 2007

In Lilongwe

When I left Kiboko Camp this morning, Janey tried to only charge me for a dorm bed, even though she had given me a private (staff) room. I didn't let her get away with it, and at least insisted that I pay for a private room.

However, didn't actually leave Kiboko Camp until 11:00. Came to this internet place to check e-mail and completely update the blog. That took a couple of hours. Now it is 2:30.

Have decided to go stay in the plush Lilongwe Hotel tonight. That'll be fun. I woke up feeling about 90% fine this morning. Had a pretty bad headache, but the miracle drugs made it subside quickly. I guess it takes longer than you'd like to admit to completely recover from death's door. Am now completely finished updating the blog, and feeling GREAT! Tomorrow, I will not be 90%, but rather 110%!

Tomorrow is real GET SERIOUS time in terms of getting back on track with the bike trip! Haha. I'm excited. It will be a big ride up to Dowa. I'm going to go up there, to try to find my old friend Martha. Haven't seen her in 9 years. I've only ever gone to Dowa by bus, but it is a long ride, up, up, up, once you take the Dowa turn-off, off the main road. I think it will be fun to actually ride it on my bike... After a last good-night's sleep in the plush Lilongwe Hotel!

Sunday, 8th April 2007

In Lilongwe

Continuing to recover and feeling much, much better! Seems to get worse at night and better again during the day. The malaria drugs Dr. Huber gave me are for 6 days, so that's 3 more days, but I feel like I'll be strong enough to move on tomorrow.

Janey continues to be the kindest sweetest person EVER. Most of the day I slept, but I actually left Kiboko Camp grounds for a couple of hours today and did some internetting (blog updating). When Janey saw me walking toward the gate, she came running after me.

"Leigh Anne!" she said.

When I turned around, she said, "Are you sure you'll be o.k., dear? You need rest. Where are you going?"

I smiled and said, "I'm feeling fine." I felt so overwhelmed with warmth that a stranger would care so much though, that I walked back and gave her a hug. "Thank you for caring," I said.

She said, "Don't overdo it. Take a taxi if you get tired."

I said, "O.k."

By evening, I knew that tomorrow I'll be ready to leave. Ready to continue my adventure! Janey repeated how amazed she was with my quick recovery. She said that she's had malaria 5 times (has lived in Africa all her life) and has never recovered so quickly.

How can one repay somebody like her? Not possible, I guess. I'll probably never see her again. Just go on with life and try to do the same thing yourself to somebody else one day. I guess.

Saturday, 7th April 2007

In Lilongwe

In the morning, I woke up in the clinic, feeling just hunky dorey. I lay there, examining the ceiling a bit, before Dr. Huber came in and said, "Good morning!" in a chipper voice. I said, "Good morning!" in an equally chipper voice.

I told him that I was feeling fine and thought I could go home. "Home". O.k., back to Kiboko Camp, more like. He agreed. He told me he couldn't believe my recovery. That I was a miracle patient. He'd expected me to be deathly ill for a couple of days at least.

Well, things weren't exactly perfect. As soon as I got out of the bed to go use the loo, the effort of that brought on some nausea and headache. But I could certainly live with it! Felt like I was back in the world of the living!

When I walked back to Kiboko Camp (only 500 meters from the clinic), the first person to oh-so-kindly greet me was a woman whom I didn't recognize. She said, "Welcome back. How are you feeling?"

I smiled and asked, "Are you one of the two who helped me when I was lying on the bathroom floor yesterday?"

She said, "Yes."

I gave her a big, big, big huge hug and thanked her.

It amazed me, though. If I fainted, how did I manage to fall without wacking my skull against one of the sinks, or the concrete floor? I don't remember anything. But maybe, in my delirious state, I hadn't fallen? Maybe I had just decided that this would be a good place to lie down? So I asked her.

My benefactor said, "You fell. You went down hard. THUD!" She said the THUD very loudly. It made me wince. Yeeks! I felt very lucky that I'd not cracked my skull open.

Janey continued to act with such kindness. She said, "We need to find you a room." She searched her books, fiddled and fidgetted. I said that I could stay in a dorm bed. She said, "Oh, no, you can't do that, you'll need lots of rest. Just hold on." Finally, she said, "O.k., dear, follow me." I don't know who she displaced or what she did, but she placed me in one of the staff rooms. None of the regular guest rooms were available.

Although feeling 500% better, I spent most of the day sleeping. Sometimes my headache would come on, or some nausea would come on. But then I'd take one of Dr. Huber's nausea pills or miracle pills and things would be o.k. and back to sleep. Sometimes I'd feel fine and get up and walk around a bit. But after 45 minutes or an hour, I'd feel a bit drowsy and go lie down for a "nap." Three hours later, I'd wake up.

Though I'm completely back in the land of the living, I can't help but to wonder about that "I crossed and my wife died" bridge. I leave you with another view of that bridge, from the other side.

Friday, 6th April 2007

In Lilongwe

I think I may have had the worst night of my entire life last night. It’s possible that I’ve had a worse one, but I don’t remember it.

Despite taking panadols, my head was not just achy. It was BANGING. Half the night I was sweating and couldn’t get cool enough. I didn’t think it was fever, I just thought it was hot outside. The other half the night, I was absolutely freezing and literally shivering. Tried doubling up the blanket to get more warmth, but the effort and movement involved in doubling the blanket made my head bang more.

When the sun finally came up, I thought, “I have got to see Elaine.” But the thought of getting up to go find her was nearly unthinkable. A few times, I’d move my leg a few centimeters and then stop again, just lying there. Finally, I thought, “I HAVE to go see Elaine, before they all leave!” I managed to swing my legs to the floor and walk, slowly, over to where Elaine was sleeping. All I could think was, “Please, please, please help me. Take me to a clinic if you need to. Do whatever. Just help. Please.” I know that is a pathetic way to think, but it’s all I could think. Elaine was very soothing and gave me 2 strong pills to help the headache.

I went back and lay down. The pills didn’t work. Not even a teansy, teansy bit. I don’t care how strong they were. They didn’t work. After about 30 minutes, I called out for the help of anybody who could hear my voice. "Hello?" I said. "Hello?"

Jack heard and came. Very nicely, he said, "Yes, Leigh Anne. It's me, Jack." I remember his voice through the tent wall because it was so caring sounding.

I asked him to please let Elaine know where I was. Not much later, Elaine came by. She talked to me gently, gave me 2 more pills, but told me not to take them for a while. She told me that I should really go to a clinic today.

I felt desperate. I didn’t have the strength to help myself. The effort of opening my eyes was painful. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get up, organize a taxi, do whatever needs to be done, get to a clinic, explain the problem. I knew I couldn’t do that. Nimia, whom I had spent the day with yesterday, had gone up north to visit her mother-in-law.

I thought of another very good old friend, Martha Manda from Dowa. Martha had been a very good friend, she even named a child after me. The problem was that she doesn’t have a phone. The only thing I knew was that her husband works for Action Aide in Dowa. I asked Elaine. “Can you go find my friend, Martha, in Dowa, and bring her? She’ll take care of things. She’ll come. I know it.”

Elaine said, “We can’t do that. We have a border crossing today. We are about to leave. You need to go to a clinic.”

I felt a bit betrayed. I paid for this entire TDA trip, all the way to S. Africa. It is true that I was leaving here, in Lilongwe. But we were still together, they hadn’t left yet, and I was all paid up. I was sick. I needed help. Couldn’t they see that?

“She doesn’t understand,” I thought to myself. Out loud I said, “Can you please try to contact Martha’s husband? He works at Action Aide. When you tell him, I know Martha will come.” Martha is poor. She probably wouldn’t even have the transport money to come to Lilongwe. But if she heard that her old friend was asking for her, she’d scrounge around at her neighbors, get the money, and be here by early afternoon. I was 1,000% sure of that. And then … I’d be saved. She could take care of everything, get me to a clinic, whatever. I know that sounds dramatic, but that’s how I was thinking.

But Elaine said, in her gentlist of voices, “I’m sorry, we can’t call. We are going. Thor already has the engine running. I’ll ask the owners of this camp to check in on you in a few hours.”

I said, “O.k., thank you.” She left. Everybody left.

The next couple of hours are somewhat of a haze, but I remember lying there with tears for part of it. I honest to God thought I was going to die. I started thinking about my life and thinking that it had been a pretty good one, but I wish it didn’t have to end like this. I wondered things like, who is going to tell my family? Nobody even knows me at this camp. If I could get to a clinic, I might stand a chance, but I can’t get to a clinic. I remember taking the other pills that Elaine had left, thinking: if this reduces the pain, which was also now nausea, just enough, then maybe I’d be able to get there on my own.

The pills didn’t work.

Once, when I was sure I was going to throw up, I did manage to come down from the bed and crawl out of the big huge tent I was in and heave in the grass. It was mainly dry heaves though, with very little “stuff”. I then lay down there in the grass, with my feet halfway in the tent, because of not enough energy to turn around and get back in the tent. After I’m not sure how long, I felt my head was on fire from heat (the sun), so I wiggled myself around and now my head was lying inside the tent and the rest of me was outside. Don’t know how long I lay like that. I could hear voices in the distance and thought, “Oh, please, somebody, call a doctor.”

Then, I was sure I was going to diarrhea. I lifted my head slightly and opened my blurry eyes. The bathrooms and toilet stalls were about 50 meters away. I stood up barely and started walking toward the stalls. The stalls were very blurry and I was delirious and weaving. I got there. One was occupied. There were only two. I remember looking in the second one and thinking, “Oh, thank god there’s toilet paper. I don’t have time to wait for this other one.” But I was *very* delirious. I remember thinking, “Please, God, let me make it to the seat. Then I’ll be o.k.” That’s the last thing I remember for a while.

When I woke up, two very kindly looking Malawian women were putting their cool, damp hands on my forehead and face. Two angels from heaven. I was lying on the bathroom floor. The concrete floor was also cool. I remember thinking, “This feels nice. I’ll just stay here a bit.” But then I noticed that in the process of however I got down there to the floor, I’d also spoiled myself with diarrhea. My honest to god first thought was, “I don’t care. I’ll just lie here in my mess. It’s o.k.” But then I thought, “No, I should try to go sit on that toilet.”

I said, “I have to go to the toilet.” I tried to get up, but failed. The ladies pulled me up, sat me down, and closed the door. A couple more bouts of diarrhea later, and then I realized I had to vomit. I asked for a bucket. I could hear them out there, scurrying, trying to get a bucket, but they weren’t scurrying fast enough.

About 5 seconds later, I asked again, “Is there a bucket?”

One of the ladies said, “It’s coming.” More scurrying. But it didn’t come fast enough. Now, in addition to my soiled underwear, there was barf all over the bathroom stall floor.

To make a long story short (well, I haven’t made it very short, have I?), the owner of the camp, named Janey, was called for help. When I finally cleaned myself up as much as possible and took off my underwear (my shorts were almost o.k., so I just wore them without the underwear), and came out of the stall, Janey was there. She asked when I started feeling sick, etc, and then she and her husband, Tom, drove me to a clinic.

Janey is my hero. She didn’t even know me. But she stayed there with me, at the clinic, calling me “honey” and “dear” and making me feel almost o.k. Dr. Huber examined me. He asked me if I felt feverish. I said, “No. Just headache and body ache, all over.” He took my temperature. I had a temperature of 39.3. I don’t know what that is in farenheit, but apparently it’s high because he said, “You DON’T feel feverish? You have a temp of 39.3!” He took a blood slide and exclaimed, “Oh my god, this is exciting! I’ve never seen so many parasites!” I lifted my head from his desk and asked, “What is it?” He said, “Malaria 4+. Very deadly. I can't believe you've been walking around the last 2 days with this stuff.” He went and discussed it with Janey, who I guess was acting on my behalf, and they decided that I should be admitted. I was also dehydrated and needed a drip.

I had a vague thought of, “Admit?! This is going to cost a lot of money.” But my main thought was, “I don’t care. Admit me! Admit me! Save me!”

Dr. Huber’s wife came and took me to my room. This was a very small clinic and nobody was on duty because it is Easter Friday, so Dr. Huber and his wife comprised the entire staff. Several injections for malaria, nausea, and general headaches later, plus the needle in my arm for the drip, and I was lying there in the bed, almost comfortable, for the first time since last night. Mrs. Huber asked, “Is there anything else you need now?” I smiled coherently and said, “I think I’m o.k.” She left and I dozed. When I woke up a few hours later, I noticed that my headache was only barely there.

I slept most of the rest of the day, except for every once in a while when Dr. Huber would come in and give me some injection or change my drip package. By evening, I was feeling much, much better. Even sat up and ate some cup-o-soup and bread. Janey came by to check on me and bring me a few things that she’d found among my stuff. Mainly, my phone. That was sure nice of her, she must have rummaged through a lot of stuff to find that phone – it wasn’t in an obvious place. When she came by, she remarked, “Wow, what an amazing improvement! Six hours ago, you looked at death’s door.”

I said, “I know! I feel much better!” and smiled. I still had a headache and felt nauseous, but the difference between how I felt now and how I’d felt in the morning was like night and day.

Then, despite sleeping most of the day, I managed to sleep all night. For several hours during the night, I was feverish and sweating and my sheets got all wet. My headache came back in full force, but then I took some of the “miracle pills” that Dr. Huber had given me and the headache subsided. The sweats also eventually subsided and I slept again.