Sunday, January 11th and beyond

Demise

But the only solider here is me
I’m fighting things I cannot see
I think it’s called my destiny
That I am changing

Marlene on the Wall, Suzanne Vega.

I slept really badly. In the morning, I felt rather bad, too. Nonetheless, after breakfast, I took off. The idea was to go a little further inland, then swing around and come back, across the heights of the Australian Alps, to the sea.

Normally, the landscape I was driving through was quite wonderful. Long, rolling grassland hills dotted with trees. This was wine country, even. But the weather was in the same mood as I. Low grey clouds, heavy with rain and not shy about it. I could see perhaps half a mile into the misty beyond.

I stopped often, under differing pretences. Eventually, it was about noon, I decided to end the day in Wagga Wagga, the central town of the area but itself not really all that big. I found a motel, got a room and crawled back under the sheets.

During the afternoon, I developed a headache that got worse and worse. It settled a little, like it normally does, around midnight. At two thirty, I woke up shacking uncontrollably. The shakes wouldn’t go away. I decided to go to the hospital. I stammered my ailments, for speech had somehow become a major achievement.

They took me in and immediately started to pump vast amounts of fluids into my veins to fight the obvious dehydration. I had a rather murderous fever, too. In hushed, impressed voices, staff exchanged the actual number all day. Quickly, it became obvious that this was some form of infection and antibiotics were added to the mix.

By mid-morning they had the fever under control. The blood works would take a day at least. Since I looked a lot better, they decided to send me home. We agreed I would stay put in Wagga for one more day and come back the next morning for an update on what bug exactly it was and, perhaps, get an adjusted prescription.

I extended my motel room, went to a nearby pharmacy to file the prescription I already got, had some lunch, and then, after a nap, decided to walk into town and have a look. I wanted to see Wagga Wagga, anyway, mostly because of the curious name. I once had spent my Been There night in Walla Walla, Washington and that had turned out a quite agreeable place. Wagga Wagga was, too. A bit drier, perhaps, and a lot less touristy. But the town centre was lively and well kept.

As I returned from my hour-long walk, which actually used up all the energy I had, I found a note in my room that the hospital’s Emergency Department had called and asked that I return as soon as at all possible.

I went right away. By now, three in the afternoon, the Emergency Department’s waiting room (They had a waiting room? I couldn’t remember one.) was full. Still I was the first patient called after I arrived. Being the most urgent of a room full of emergencies can only spell trouble. To sneak in a Buffy quote (or, well, Xander quote, really), ‘Generally speaking, when scary things get scared: not good.’

The blood work had come back a whole lot quicker than anyone thought. The bug in question had grow at an alarming rate. The doctor claimed he had never seen any culture grow as quickly as this one. Meanwhile, the fever started climbing again. More fluids and antibiotics. I was back in hospital for good.

I spend the afternoon and evening in the Emergency Department and was then send to Ward 1, my home away from home for the next four days. It took full two days, until Wednesday, to get the fever under control. I was finally released on Friday.

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I am writing this from a motel room in Batemans Bay, finally down by the sea. A hospital is just up the street. Curious, how your requirements change.

I have two weeks left in this fabulous country. An attempt to fly home early was thwarted by the incompetence of my own useless profession. I have no idea yet, what I’ll do. In all likelihood, I will swing back to Sydney, taking my time, perhaps even spend a few days there. Whatever it may be, I am afraid you won’t read about it here. Writing wry travel accounts isn’t something I am currently able to do.

I will end with this: If you ever find yourself seriously ill all alone thousands of miles away from home, pray it be a place like Wagga. It may not have anything to offer (or so everyone kept insisting) and the Wagga Wagga Base Hospital may be a crumbling sixties red-brick shoebox (not for long, though, the new building has gotten along well and, this being Wagga and not Berlin, is likely to open next year). But everyone I met there went out of there way and far beyond any duty to help a stranded traveller, make him feel welcome and a little less lost.

Thanks, mates.