Angels of Mercy (3) Relapse
It was almost twelve o’clock by the time I woke up the next morning, so I figured I might as well hang on to the room for another day. My flight was not due to leave until almost midnight and I could do with the rest. Meanwhile it wouldn’t hurt to visit the local pharmacy which the Italian had said had particularly helpful staff. They might sell me some tranquilizer—some people apparently manage to get the stuff over the counter here. They might also know the name of the hospital where I was at yesterday morning. The taxi driver had kept the slip of paper, but it had to be the nearest one to the Kao San Road. I would go back there and set the record straight, retrieve my tourist card, find some way of paying that bill. However, when I tried to explain my predicament to the poor girls who worked there (they didn’t know the hospital) I was overcome by intense dizzyness and promptly collapsed again. Clearly, this wasn’t going to stop. Whatever was happening represented a real medical problem and there was no alternative but give in to it and seek treatment. One way or the other.
Damn.
A taxi ride. A German woman sat next to me, reassuring me. I handed her my money belt so that she could pay for the taxi.
Another hospital, different from the first. The way I felt was also different. I was agitated, pacing, trying to fight for control. Being caught several times on the way down to the floor.
My memory of this particular episode is fragmented, but the German girl was always there. Her name was Mimi. Another Angel, she waited patiently until I had calmed down somewhat, after many hours of hanging around hospital corridors.
“Are you alright?” she eventually asked.
“I’m fine.” I shook her hand: ” How can I thank you enough?”
She just smiled and left, and in a way I was relieved to see her go. I had not been an easy patient. Mimi had seen to it that the German embassy was notified so they would send an interpreter. The problem is that I may have a German passport, but I have not spoken the language routinely for twenty years and would be much more comfortable with an English interpreter. The Germans kept calling and I kept brushing them off. Thankfully, they did not actually send anybody—I felt that dealing with the bureaucrats at the embassy would only spell trouble.
Eventually, I went to sleep on the floor (that was actually where I was supposed to sleep—Mimi had managed to convey that I didn’t have much money, so I was asigned a space on the ward and was given a pillow and blanket). When I woke up, the panic was completely gone. I calmly went to the reception, paid my bill (570 Baht; this time they had kept my passport) and bade my good-byes.
Still no Xanax, though.
My legs felt like jelly, but I remained totally calm, which was puzzling because I had not been given drugs of any kind.
The rest of the afternoon remained entirely uneventful. I had a last Pad Thai and coconut juice, sent an e-mail, regretted not having that final beer (alcohol would have been a bad idea), showered, changed and boarded the minibus to the airport.
It was a fun ride. I will miss that backpacker-crowd. One German girl in particular had me in stitches during the entire one-hour trip. The winner among her many tales had to be of her working on a tan for weeks then using some body lotion without bothering to read the label only to find out that it was bleaching cream: “I had to hide from my friends for several days while I went to the tanning studio, so they would believe that I’ve been to Thailand! But isn’t it funny how we always want to be different? White people want to be brown and brown people want to be white!”
My troubles were forgotten. At the airport I was still calm, remembering that I had those pills. If it was necessary, the capsule would get me to Amman, and the tablet would cover the leg to London.
They let me out of the country without fuss. I guess if they had tried to arrest me, I could have reasonably pleaded insanity.
Tags: SE Asia, Tag Index
Denni