Day 28 -31
So Delhi belly has struck me with frightening ferocity. I don't think I have felt so unwell since the hangover after my leaving do. This was truly shocking - fever, aching bones, vomiting, constant nausea, weakness, disorientation, and of course - diarrhoea which resembled nothing I have ever seen before. And even hallucinations - at one point I thought I was stuck in the desert in India with two small children! The first night was the worst, and despite our luxury surroundings, I pretty much just wept. And made child like noises at regular intervals. I must have gone to the toilet every 30 minutes all through the night, sometimes not even making it to the toilet but being very touched by the series of buckets Rufus had placed along the way to make my journey easier. He also insisted on being woken every time I needed to go (which am sure he regretted a few times in) and helping me through it - while retching and trying to put cold water on my head. The girls were incredibly sweet and sympathetic. In that really cute way kids do, Clover kept repeating things I have told her when she has felt unwell, like 'you must eat something or you won't get better'. On waking, I felt no better and we all panicked slightly about how to get 'home' to Jodhpur. We were 55km in the desert from Jaislamer, and 250 from Jodhpur. Rufus managed to get a taxi and bundled me in about midday, still sobbing and squirting from every orifice. Unfortunately the taxi was basically a Fiat Panda with no aircon so I curled up on the front seat, seat back, with the window down and tried to sleep. It was absolutely dreadful, the worst three hours of my life (apart from my first wedding). I had to stop to go to the toilet on the roadside and was horrified to discover I had, er, actually already been. This is India though, and before you judge me I think you have to understand the conditions here. Anyway, I didn't care, having left my dignity behind when Rufus had to mop up various messes around the room, including blood at one point, not sure which body part that came from but it sure wasn't the only correct one. He said it was like puppy training, although fortunately he didn't rub my nose in any of it. The driver seemed none the wiser, as India stinks anyway. The stain on his seat was minimal as most of the liquid had been absorbed by my clothes. I crawled into bed in Jodhpur and the our gay host, now wearing a baker boy cap at a jaunty angle, took one look at me and said 'doctor, sweetheart'. Sure enough the doctor arrived in a mysterious 3 minutes (turned out there are other patients in the same guest house) with a briefcase and a 12 year old boy. He did some basic checks, refused to believe my blood pressure was 90/60 - it always is! and declared I had a mild fever. He said the only treatment was IV fluids at which I promptly burst into more tears. Apparently it is common for women to be sexually assaulted in Indian hospitals and I just wasn't up for it. Rufus tried to protest but before we fully understood, he started to unpack his bag, which contained a drip. He then took a piece of string out of a pillow case, removed a wedding photo of our host (the unhappiest he has ever looked, that's for sure) and hung a drip on a picture hook. He produced a needle the size of a pipe from his case and shoved it into my hand - without washing his hands. I was too ill to protest and Rufus was too shocked. The boy with him then started going through a tupperware box, hacking open vials with some CAR KEYS and injecting allah knows what into the bag which promptly turned bright yellow. Vitamins, he said sagely. Many more injections followed. I thought if this is the Harold Shipman of India, I'm in a lot of trouble. Otherwise I am just going to have to put my trust in this nice man and believe that most people in the world genuinely want to help. The doctor then called the pharmacist for more drugs who again, arrived in about 3 minutes. It's like they just keep medical staff through the back round here. At one point I said to the doctor 'is this your son' to which he replied, 'no, just a poor boy I am trying to help'. I felt like saying this is not the right time for some mild charity work, mate, can I please have a more sterile and medically able assistant.
Anyway, the doctor asked for 1000 rupees fee, in cash, which he shoved in his jeans pocket. £12! You can't get a cup of tea at Ross Hall for that. The boy was instructed to wait while the drip finished. He injected some further antibiotics into the drip which stung like f*** - I have had this before so knew that was a normal feeling, but this was really sore. The boy sat and stroked my hand patiently along the vein for a whole ten minutes and I was genuinly touched at this moment of humanity. I smiled weakly and we made eye contact several times during this very sweet exchange. He knows I have money and privelege and he has nothing, yet he doesn't want me to be in any pain. Then he took out my drip without washing his hands and the moment was lost. Rufus thanked him and gave him 100 rupees and he left happy.
I didn't feel immediately better as promised, in fact started convulsing not long after they had gone. That was a slight worry but Rufus turned down the air con and gave me another blanket and I calmed down. Only up a couple of times during the night and feel much better this morning. Am back on oral fluids but no food yet. I am sure I will have shifted that extra stubborn chapatti stone I have been carrying about, but what a way to go about it.