Dancing Daggers

I am not right. Morning has come. Something is wrong. A dog, I smell that foul, something's awry, stench. I cannot say what but I know it's there. A tremulous body, I text my counterpart. I cannot work today, something evil this way comes, instinct whispers to me.

I am a ball of nothing, energy has depleted completely. Flesh has turned warm, a crimson face stares across the room. Any which way I lie ends uncomfortably. Body indiscriminately rejects liquids and solids alike. I need to take a leak, but my body has collapsed, I am trapped in my bed. Eyes shut. I am traveling a bright dreamscape.

I am in pain. My eyes open. Fever is reaching epic proportions, the most pain I have ever been in. Muscles and body will burst under the pressure. I ponder if death would be preferable. I find myself taking short quick breaths. A deep breath is greeted by a thousand knives of fire stabbing the lungs, with a kick to the face, to boot. The heart of a marathon runner beats, but I don't run. Body struggles to attain enough oxygen. My lungs are filling with liquid, I am slowly drowning in my ger, far from any large body of water. Help me. Eyes close again.

I am in want of death. Eyes slowly open. Hard to comprehend, but the situation has deteriorated further. I struggle to scrounge enough energy to reach the medical kit across the room. An old man with two bad legs, I finally retrieve it. It reads 102.3. A bright crimson face takes some un-aspirin. Trapped, alone in a ger on the Mongolian steppe, hours from the Peace Corps doctor. I conjure up a little more energy and manage the journey to the outhouse. The hashaa mom sees me "Did you go to school today?" No, I'm dying. Upon return to my ger, the hashaa mom bursts in, "I'm sorry I didn't know you were sick". I just need sleep. (The events that follow are blurry, for my fever reached 103 and I was on a plateau, fading in and out of consciousness). I begin to have various hashaa family members visiting, every 20 minutes. They advise me to call the Peace Corps doctor; delirious, I refuse. I am in another world, our reality is a distant window. All I want is sleep.

I am unhappy. Many hours have passed, the fever subsides a bit. I manage to swallow a bit of water but that too eventually reemerges. I have blessed the governor of my soum's milk in my ping before. On this day he had come for that precise reason. (The family asked me to do it again, but I believe I was unable to answer). Suddenly 5 or 6 people are coming and going in my ger. I don't care, I am somewhere else. My hashaa sister locks me in my ger, thinking it's dangerous to leave me alone. My body won't move anyway. Sleep is hard to come by in a feverish and aching body, with a cough that comes from the depths, tearing through lungs filled with liquid. I struggle to get an hour here and there, but the shadows become my companions. I stare. I follow the ger poles up to the window, reaching for the heavens, but never quite getting there. I am in a dark hell, trapped in a felt tomb. I receive a message at midnight saying my phone has been shut off, Peace Corps hadn't renewed our contracts (though I had called them on Monday, before the sickness, to confirm that our contract ended the next day, and that they would have it promptly extended, just one of the many ways Peace Corps has let me down in the past year). I laugh.

I am sleepless. Around 6 in the morning, hashaa sister unlocks the door and checks in. My fever is already almost back to full strength. I am urged to call the doctor but my phone is useless, besides, I refuse outright again still in some kind of reasonless state. The twenty minute visitor rule is back in full force. The hashaa mom comes in and begins cleaning my entire ger, top to bottom, side to side; floor, rug, dishes, nothing stays unclean. She leaves after a half hour or so. (I barely remember this, she reminded me several weeks later when I returned to Orxon and I quickly thanked her). I am trapped in bed releasing a low groan every once in a while. My phone rings, I can still receive calls. It's my regional manager. She explains that my director had called saying Kevin is dying in his ger, should she contact Paul, the PCMO? I don't want this to turn into a big deal, I take a deep breath and am quickly reminded of my situation. I nonchalantly say sure. I am foolishly waiting to contact the doctor for what? My brain is fried. Cady calls me, all M18 phones are down, she's calling from her work landline. She is concerned, rumors travel quickly in Peace Corps. I tell her Zorigoo had called me, Paul should be calling soon. She says she's gonna call Peace Corps again. Meanwhile, the visitors keep pouring in. My counterpart comes in with my sister. The sister starts making fun of me, I manage to yell at her to be quiet, counterpart laughs.

I am losing hope. Paul hasn't called yet, the time is approaching 1. The phone rings, it's Paul. Hey man, I hear you're having some trouble. Paul I think I'm dying. I'm worried about Pneumonia, if you're not better by tomorrow, you need to come to UB immediately. I promptly begin taking Amoxicillian and un-aspirin, as many as allowed. My fever is still in the epic regions, I slip in and out of reality again.

I am regaining my hold on hope. Paul calls several more times throughout the day checking up on me. The evening shades begin to appear and my fever finally subsides slightly again. I haven't eaten or drank anything in a day and a half. Paul says that it's essential I at least get some water, I am in danger of serious dehydration. Night comes, and it's another nightmare.

I am utterly weak. The morning is blooming, and Paul calls. "I'm slightly better". "You need to leave Orxon now".