I’m not sure when the nausea started again, but I can tell you it was almost immediately, and it came back with vengeance. I was eating about four bites of rice at each meal and trying to take my medicine and keep it down, but no dice. I desperately wanted ginger ale and crackers (and my mother), but we were so far isolated from the city that all of these things were impossible to obtain. I spent the majority of my time in my tent or in my hammock, waiting to throw up again. I couldn’t even keep water down. I cried out so many times to Jesus, “Just be with me. Just stay here with me.” It went on like this for about two days. We were trying to determine whether or not it was the actual food poisoning or whether it was the medicine making me sick.
Finally, I asked Jeff if we could go to the hospital. He agreed that it was time. I took my phone/phone charger, my passport, and little else, assuming it would be a brief trip. Bobbi Jo had a bad headache, so Vivian agreed to come to the hospital with us. Jeff smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll be home for dinner.” We started the two hour, bumpy van ride to Phnom Penh. I had a plastic bag in my hand for the entirety of the journey in case of any vomiting, but I knew I wouldn’t need it – there was nothing left in my body. We arrived at the hospital and after a blood test and a urine sample, we were told I was in the second stage of dehydration and that I had salmonella. They wanted to keep me overnight and possibly for a second night.
When we were given the news and the amount of time that we’d be staying in the hospital, I felt a surge of emotions flood through me. First of all, I felt so guilty because it was the first night Jeff and Bobbi Jo would spend apart on the Race. I felt bad because Vivian had to stay with me, and I felt apprehensive because I knew my parents would be so upset about the fact that I’d been hospitalized (specifically my dad). I felt terrible because I wouldn’t be at ministry for at least two days, and I hadn’t even started getting to know the boys at Teen Challenge. I knew that if I was hospitalized for more than one night, the squad leaders would have to leave Siem Reap and stay with me. I just felt so much guilt about so many things. Clearly, I had salmonella because of something I had eaten. No one else had it. What was going on?!
So, I prayed about it. I asked Jesus if he would cleanse me of the feelings of guilt I had about everything that was beyond my control. And then I realized THAT WAS THE PROBLEM. I wanted to be in control of the situation. I started to calm down when I remembered that God was God and that he had placed me with exactly the people he did in the exact situation I was in to bring himself the most glory. That eased my worry slightly, and I called my parents to break the news when it was finally a reasonable hour.
When you’re anticipating staying in the hospital for a few hours, but it turns out you’ll be staying in the hospital for four days and three nights, you get a little stir crazy. Thank God I had brought my phone and its charge cord, but while the internet is great because it’s a means of communication back home, too much internet can get overwhelming. I was placed in a hospital room by myself with a television (luxuries that many people hospitalized in Cambodia never have). After about 2 hours of Tom and Jerry on the first day, I began to get a little stir crazy. I had a shower but I had no clean clothes to change into and no soap, shampoo, or towel (and I hadn’t showered in three days). Excellent. Every hour or so, a nurse came in and asked if there was any “urine” or “stool”, and much to my humiliation, when I was sleeping, they asked Vivian.
I didn’t eat anything the first night. The next morning, Dr. Ivan, my very Russian doctor, came in and said, “Would you like to eat?” Before I could answer he nodded and said, “Yes. You will have soup; chicken noodle. The chicken must be boiled. No fried. And for lunch, stuffed chicken and boiled potatoes. Very good.” He pointed to Vivian and said, “You, come with me. You will order.”
Vivian told me about the whole ordeal later on; Dr. Ivan had given her the number and she couldn’t really understand the man’s thick accent, and she had ordered what Dr. Ivan had told her to, but the man at the restaurant didn’t really understand her, so she wasn’t sure if I’d be getting my food or not. About an hour later, Dr. Ivan barged in and wanted to know where my breakfast was. Vivian said she had called the Russian restaurant, but Dr. Ivan insisted that he would call back. He paced around my hospital room, half-screaming, half-spitting Russian to the man on the other end of the line. Vivian and I glanced at each other and giggled a little. When he had finished, he smiled, patted my hand, and said, “Okay. Your food comes.” I laughed and thanked him.
TO BE CONTINUED…
