Issuu

Positive (Manila, Philippines) As the airplane touched down in Manila, my cough was tickling harder but I tried to swallow it down – especially as I was filling out the Health Form. But I didn’t hide my symptoms. I checked yes that I had a cough. I checked yes that I had a runny nose. And I put all the countries I had visited in the last 7 days: India, China, and Hong Kong. Unlike China, there was no hazmat team that boarded first and pointed their plastic temperature taking guns. Instead, we were ushered off the plane quite quickly. Then just outside the gate as we turned left towards immigration was a uninterested, heavy man leaning on an iron railing asking you for your health forms. He kept a messy batch under his unused arm and his action arm gathered together the others. He asked us no questions and he seemed to be put off by being assigned as the single health official. He didn’t even look people in the eyes as we passed – handing him our forms. At the next level of health inspection – walking in front of the thermal temperature taking television screens – was even easier. The booth was not manned. I found it hard to keep in my coughing as I stood in the immigration line. I was now selfconscious of my condition – and held it back as much as possible. But the people in lines were more excited about being in the Philippines and ignored me. Most of them seemed like American college students coming over for holiday. I was afraid the immigration inspector might deny my entry. Instead when I got to her desk she made a comment that she thought my tie made me look handsome. I smiled back, felt a tickle, and let out a little cough. The lady smiled back and stamped my passport.

Sophia later met me at the taxi stand of my hotel. We hugged. Sophia then saw the H1N1 symptoms poster hanging near the glass of the lobby of the hotel. She started laughing.

“If you feel like not wanting to wake up and keep sleeping…” Sophia said pointing behind me. “That’s everyday, does that mean I have swine flu?” “You know you kid, but I am worried. I can’t shake this cough,” I admitted to her. “So you think you have swine flu?” I shrugged. “Do you have a fever?” I shook my head no. “Then you are okay. That list says so,” and she pointed to the H1N1 sign again. “That sign also says that if your skin turns bluish – you have one of the symptoms of swine flu.” I laughed. “They need to be more specific with the symptoms instead of using generalities. For example, if suddenly you say out loud, ‘wow, that looks Smurfy’ – means you might have swine flu…” I coughed. Sophia looked at me confused. “Smurfs? You know the little people that lived in the forest and in mushrooms? And they all banged Smurfette?” Sophia shook her head no. “Man, our age difference has suddenly become apparent.” “Shut up!” and Sophia punched me on the shoulder. Later that night, my cough worsened. Sophia gave me some candy to suck on to stop the coughing. And I kept remarking at how cold everything was. Suddenly, Sophia became engrossed in watching television but I instead cocooned under the covers and fell asleep. While sleeping, I had a dream I was driving a massive Coca-Cola truck in the sky. It was one of those Coca-Cola trucks from South Africa where they never shut the side doors – and expose the Coca-Cola products so robbers do not have to hijack the truck to steal anything. But flying it through the air was incredibly hard – as I would turn it left or right – Coke products would fall. And I would lean out of the window and watch as they descended, descended, and finally exploded against the ground below.

And I was fighting with the massive steering wheel – fighting to turn it right And fighting to turn it left. I was so afraid that the products might fall and hurt children playing in the streets. Once I watched helplessly as I saw something fall from my truck through a church roof. Finally, I made a decision to land on a nearby highway. While landing, I became dizzy and couldn’t control the truck anymore and it was like I could feel the heaviness of the truck on my entire body – and all of it came crashing to earth – and I remember feeling my body go cold and I could barely breathe. I was breathing fast and hard. That’s when I woke up and found I wasn’t in the cab of any Coca-Cola truck. I was shivering. I heard my breathing echo in my head – fast and hard. My throat and nose were on fire. And I couldn’t swallow hard enough, fast enough, and I could feel the mucus like mud coating the back of my throat. “Sophia,” I managed out. She was asleep beside me. She moaned and stirred but didn’t wake up. “Sophia,” I pushed out and coughed. I reached my hand across and touched her on her shoulder. She had fallen asleep with her clothes on. She groaned and cracked open an eye. “You okay?” I was quick to answer, “No. I feel horrible.” She rose quickly. “What’s wrong?” “I think I am sick.” She pushed her hand out and touched my forehead. She kept it there for a couple of seconds. “You do feel hot.” “Can you get me some ice?” I asked. “Okay.” But she sat there trying to think about it. “How can I get you ice?” “You should be able to call room service.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t be drinking anything cold – that will just make your throat hurt.” “Hey! Look! The last thing I am worrying about is my throat. I just want to cool the back of my throat!” I said a little snippy.

“Well you are not sick enough to be insulting.” She crossed her arms. I watched her watch me. “Okay, okay. I am sorry. Can you call room service for a bucket of ice?” “Okay.” And she got up and pushed zero on the phone.

The next day was torture. Sophia prodded me to go to the doctor or the hospital. And I kept refusing. I just stayed in my hotel room and she fed me aspirin and decongestion medicine from the local drug store. But Monday morning, I woke very early because I was so sick. And I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to wake Sophia but she was deep in sleep. I sent a SMS saying to the office in Makati that I was going to the ER I struggled to take a shower. Washing my hair was the most painful because every time I lathered it was like I was pulling my hair out by the roots. I dressed in the only clean clothes I hadn’t sent to the dry cleaners. I went back to the bed and saw Sophia sprawled out against the white bed sheets. I coughed a meaty, phlegm cough. Sophia stirred. She cracked an eye open. And seeing me – she opened both her eyes quickly. “Where are you going so early? You never get up early?” “I can’t take this anymore. I am going to the hospital.” She leaned up. “I will go with you.” And she ran her hand through her hair. “No, I can’t wait for you to take a shower and put on your makeup – and look good for the ER.” She became agitated. “Look I told you to go yesterday. Don’t try to pin this on me.” “Okay, okay.” I coughed and snorted my snot back in. “Well, I feel horrible.” “Okay, talk to the hotel and maybe they can help you get to the ER.” “I will SMS you what happens,” I said a bit out of breath. And then I walked out the door. Getting down stairs on the elevator, I was afraid someone was going to get in with me. I was paranoid. And finally on the second floor, a room cleaner did enter. I tried to hold

my breath – but it just made me want to cough more. So I did. My whole body ached as I did it. When the elevator door opened, the cleaner held the door open for me, “Sir.” He said. I didn’t resist and walked out quickly. I went directly to the front lobby. Being this was the hotel I frequented; the employees knew something was wrong when they saw me. “Mister Jackson, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I am sick. I think I need to go to Makati Medical.” They instantly understood and before I knew it they had called a cab and I was rushing through Monday morning traffic to Makati Medical. They gave me a surgical mask and I put it on promptly. However, the mask made me want to cough more. Arriving, there was no typical emergency room type drive up service. There was just an overhang and a door. And outside the ER were stadium seats or folding seats for people waiting for family and friends outside the hospital who had been admitted. When I paid my taxi, I went up to one of the attendants and he asked what was wrong. I could barely talk – and his accent was so strong – and I supposed my accent was so strong – we could barely communicate. Finally, he realized and he told me to sit down outside in a char labeled one. When I sat down, I saw the chaos outside. I saw people arriving by jeepney with blood pouring out of their noses, feet cut, legs cut, people crying and yelling. Finally the attendant came out again, “Sir, where were you before you came to the Philippines?” I managed out, “India, China, and Hong Kong.” He started writing but quickly stopped – looked at me with his surgical mask on – and answered promptly, “We need to move you to isolation.” And he motioned for me to stand. I stood up and he took me around the corner to a room that was hidden by one way mirrors. When I entered, it was four walls of white, completely empty, and thankfully cold. I saw plastic chairs lining the walls but I was more interested in a hospital bed that was pushed near to the far wall. “Sir, can you stay here? Someone will be with you soon.” I nodded. I didn’t try to answer. And I crawled up on the hospital bed – and suddenly – I was out. Not sure how long I was asleep for. But when I woke, the room was filled with people sniffling, coughing, and looking scared. Most were Filipino. But there was a heavy set British woman there with a surgical mask as well. And when you are a

foreigner in a foreign country – and your eyes meet another foreigner – you eye each other suspiciously – and then try to avoid each other. I suddenly fell back asleep. I slept for a long time again. I woke up – more people had filled the room and now people were standing. I felt guilty for taking up the entire bed. I also thought to myself – if someone did have swine flu – we all have it now. Throwing everyone in one isolated room is a sure fire way to get the virus to spread. And as of yet, no doctor or nurse had entered the room. Everyone was getting impatient – especially the British woman. Suddenly, someone entered in full surgical outfit. Everyone in the room stiffened but quickly tensed up again – when it was just a poor custodian who was assigned to empty the trash cans in the isolation room. His eyes looked more nervous and scared – than ours who were waiting to be tested. The British woman spoke loudly, “Is anyone going to see us?” The custodian stopped what he was doing and looked around the room. It was almost as if he didn’t understand English. But finally he nodded and disappeared back behind the thick metal door that separated our isolation room from the Emergency Room. Then two people entered – wearing more surgical gear – thick scrubs, a mask that covered their face like a duck’s bill, and plastic googles. ‘Mister Jackson?” the one who was a woman said aloud. I stirred and sat up. “Yes?” She approached with a kit that looked very much like the play doctor’s kit I had when I was a child playing doctor. She opened it up and it had lots of Ziploc bags and long, long Q-tips. She began asking me questions about my travels. Then she started asking questions about my symptoms. Then finally she asked, “Do you agree to a H1N1 testing?” I nodded and added, “Yes.” “Sign here please,” she said and handed me a clipboard. I saw an X and signed my name. Her glove hand took over the pen and then tossed it into the trash after I had signed. Then she put the clipboard down and took out the Ziploc and cotton swabs. “Sadly, this might feel a bit uncomfortable,” she said. “That’s okay. I am used to it,” I managed out.

Just then she took the long cotton swab and stuck it deep into my left nostril. And she kept moving it inside – and finally she stopped only to swivel back and forth – back and forth. I could feel it burn and hit the back of my throat. I gagged and heaved. “Sorry, sir.” She said. She then tick the swab and quickly broke off the wooden stem and put the cotton part inside a tube with pinkish liquid. She then went and grabbed another swab. And again, she lanced it into my right nostril. Same torture. Then broke off the stem and added it to the tube with the pinkish liquid. She took her final cotton swab and took a wooden tongue suppressant out and looked me in the eye and said, “Open your mouth and say, ‘ahh.’” “Ahh,” I began and suddenly with the tongue suppressant pushing down, she jabbed the cotton swab down my throat and ran it back and forth across deep in the back of my throat. I gagged once, twice, and almost threw up before she withdrew. “So sorry.” She said apologetically. And with that she broke the wooden stem and dropped the third swab into the tube with pinkish fluid. “Someone else will come and take your blood.” And like that she was gone. I simply fell back against the bed and again – I was asleep again. I gently tapped awake by a large man who held a needle and syringes. “Mister Jackson, I am here to take your blood.” The man seemed larger hidden behind his scrubs, goggles, and surgical mask. He took a rubber band and tied it above my elbow. And then he took an alcohol wipe and rubbed across where a blue vein showed up in my arm. And without much effort, he pushed the needle inside with a jab. And then suddenly, the vial filled with deep red, blood. Finally, he withdrew – and taped a cotton ball to the place where he took the blood sample. “Someone will be with you shortly.” And just like that he was gone – and I was left in the isolation room surrounded by strangers. This time – a little girl had entered and was alone because her parents were not allowed in. And she was scared. When she saw me, I smiled a big smile. And she became shy and looked away. I could tell she was sick though – but trying hard not to show it. Then I leaned back and fell asleep again. I stayed in that isolation room for nearly five hours. Suddenly, there was a knock on the outside wall where the one-way mirrors were. It made me open my eyes. But I thought nothing of it. Suddenly, the door to the outside opened and a head peered in wearing a surgical mask, “Mister Jackson? Is a Mister Jackson here?” I leaned up. “Yes? I am here.”

The man motioned for me to come closer. All the participants of the room were watching me. I stood up and walked to the door. “Mister Jackson, I am Mel, head of security for your hotel. I came here to check on you, make sure you were okay, and see if there is anything I could possibly do to help. Have you been tested yet?” I nodded. “Are you hungry, sir? I can order you lunch for when you arrive back at the hotel.” “Wow, that’s incredibly nice.” He shook his head, “No, that’s our job. We just want to make sure you get back to the hotel fine – and make sure you get well soon.” He went quiet. “I will talk to your doctors and find out how much longer you will be here.” “Thanks,” I said. And with that, the door closed and I saw myself in the one-way mirror. I even looked sick. I went back to the bed and fell asleep again. Finally, I heard a commotion and the British woman was crying. “I just want to get out of here! I have been here for five hours! Will somebody please come and tell me what’s going on?” she was yelling at the custodian who had entered the room again to empty the trash. That made me sit up and just then someone knocked on the mirrored wall again. The door opened from the outside. “Mister Jackson?” a voice said. “Yes?” “You can go with me now,” and it was Mel, the security guy. I had just enough energy to walk across the floor and go outside. Outside, he showed me that he had gotten my Hong Kong ID back – which I didn’t remember giving it away. He also had my prescriptions. The one I recognized right away was the Tamiflu. “Let’s get you back to the hotel. Sadly, the doctors have asked us to isolate you until you get your results back.” “When will that be?” I said following him as we walked to a hotel car that was waiting for us.

“They said two days.” And he opened the door for me, and I fell into the seat exhausted.

Sadly, Mel was wrong. I didn’t get my results until five days later. And Mel, although nice and very polite, made sure I stayed confined to my room. The only excursion I could make was to the stairwell as a hazmat team of room cleaners came in and decontaminated my room. On that Friday, I was feeling one hundred percent. The Tamiflu had been my savior. However, I was going stir crazy being trapped in my room. I had created a routine of watching both Filipino and American television shows at certain times of the day – and that’s what allowed me to get through the isolation. Other perks were, I had Sophia – who strangely not shown any symptoms and in order to be proactive visited her general practioner twice who always gave her a clean bill of health – attended to me. She would sneak me a Starbucks coffee. Or go and get me Jollibee. Finally, I was tired of the incompetence of the Department of Health – and I called my HR department to demand an answer to my H1N1 test. They were also frustrated. Finally, my phone to my hotel room rang around 2 pm. I picked up and it was my HR representative. “Have you gotten your results?” he asked. I blew out a breath. “No, I have not. And I am pissed. I called them and they said it would be tomorrow.” I paused for effect. “Tomorrow is Saturday! Are they really going to get my results tomorrow?” The HR representative cleared his throat. “No, they won’t. That’s why we chased down your results to a supervisor at the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine.” “Okay.” I said with bated breath. “And?” The HR representative was slow to respond. “You are positive.” I had made jokes about being positive but secretly believed I would never be positive. But now to hear it, I didn’t believe it. “The authorities are now involved. And they will be rushing you to San Juan De Dios Hospital in Metro Manila. That’s probably the best facility to deal with your situation.” I thought about the word in my head, my situation. And without thinking I asked again, “You sure about the results?”

The HR representative answered immediately, “Positive.”