I chose to look at the set of colourful paintings that adorned the otherwise drab room, rather than at my blood being drawn out of me. When it was done, the doctor assured me that he would get back to me soon with the results of the blood test. While he was mumbling on (he was even more soft-spoken than me!), I stole a quick glance at the vial of my blood sample. I didn't imagine my blood to be in such a shade of deep, dark red, like wine but much thicker. I had feared this moment since I watched over my youngest sister and my mother who had dengue fever, one after the other, earlier this year. Well, I feared blood extraction too, since I was young, but that would be a lesser fear now that I had my first experience.
On Tuesday I had high fever and little appetite. My body was like a burning ball of flame - everything else was cool to my touch. I breathed out hot air like some dragon. My stomach was throwing tantrums and the back of my eyelids were warm against my eyeballs. I craved water very much, but the thirst wouldn't subside no matter how much water I consumed. I took one gram of paracetamol (what you'd call "Panadol") after dinner and went to bed, waking up about an hour later in sweat but without fever.
With fever kept at bay, I went for lecture and conducted my experiment as planned on Wednesday (luckily I had the foresight to prepare the materials on Monday night). I took mental notes of my body condition, of course. I kept feeling a throbbing pain in my left ear, in that part where scientists call "lobule". I was unnaturally tired, though at that time it didn't look out of the ordinary (I was recuperating, I thought to myself). I was constantly thirsty and all dried up inside. My throat was as though on fire. My stomach went docile and didn't bother me much. Around evening, I had mild fever and was fatigued. Again, I took paracetamol and went to sleep after dinner.
Thursday morning found me highly alert and fever-less. I even managed to proofread a junior's thesis proposal and had a very long chat with him about his research. I still had the unquenchable thirst and the throbbing pain in my left lobule. I had no desire for food. I was only waiting for the day to end, so that my long weekend could begin and I could finally rest. I continued taking paracetamol, keeping in mind not to cross the dosage limit.
Yesterday was the worst I'd felt in years, probably. I woke up groggy and disoriented, craving for more sleep even though I had my fill. I managed to drag myself out of bed, after some effort, only to fall asleep on the sofa when I got to the living room. Horizontal surfaces seemed attractive to me all of a sudden, and lying down jumped to the top of my to-do list for the day. In my state of lethargy, I hung out a load of laundry to dry and later, fetched my youngest sister to tuition. It was a wonder I didn't crash the car or faint somewhere.
Last night I went to a nearby clinic to see a doctor and was told to wait for 20 minutes. I waited for 40 minutes before the doctor came back from his dinner and it became my turn to see him. I made a quick summary of my case, giving him the timeline and symptoms I had. He prescribed me some antibiotics and paracetamol, telling me to come back first thing the next morning to have a blood test.
This morning I had to wait for a long time too, as there was a long queue before me. After giving the blood sample and paying for the test, I was barely able to move my right hand without feeling a sharp pain. I drove home using my left hand to steer the wheel, most of the time. To change gears I momentarily let my right hand take over the steering wheel. Driving "one-handed" does have its uses, especially in situations like this.
After about an hour, the doctor personally called me to deliver the news. My platelet count was low, but not too low that would require immediate hospitalisation (as in my mum's case). He said I had dengue fever, asked me to continue taking the prescribed medication and to see him on Monday morning. I think what I felt after the phone call was relief. Relieved that it wasn't my fault, but some damned mosquitoes. Relieved that I finally can make my dad re-consider the stagnant water of a "fish pond" he had built in the front yard.
I'm not too worried about getting well - I have medicine, and my mum's pulling out all the stops by trying home remedies. Isotonic drink, papaya leaf juice, double-boiled bitter gourd with frogs. No, I'm in good hands. It's just that I feel irritable and sometimes - there are no other words for it - shitty.
