During our last day in Amritsar, all of us fell violently ill. Below is an excerpt of what I typed into the notes of my phone. It details the severity of our situation throughout that night.
And who knew that crisis would strike at 3am. In a stroke of instinct, I arise from the bed, shivering from the vestiges of a fever. I feel warm blood start to return to my extremities, whereas the past three hours have been torturously cold, even under a quilt. In my five times in India, I have never once had food poisoning. But tonight was a test of mettle for all of us.
I find Chelsea curled up on the sofa area, complaining of numbness and cold. My fever had struck earlier in the night, and this was Chelsea’s turn. Draping a blanket over her, I tell her to think of her loved ones hugging her to warm her up. Tonight, I hid my panic to make sure that no further alarms were triggered. The situation, as I was aware, was tense, and Joy was the only one amongst us free from this ordeal.
However, waking up to each movement, sniffle, panic, and shiver is hardly comforting. And as I could sense it, Joy too, was already being stretched — trying to care for two sick adults is hardly a task for someone untrained and sleep deprived.
I type this note, just as I finish updating Annette. It’s 5.30am in Singapore. In my hasty texts I type:
“Hi Annette, myself and Chels are running a fever currently. We suspect it might be good poisoning. We’re monitoring our situation with Joy.
This is the most I can do now, and I’m staying awake to fight the stomach cramps that be. There is a burst of warmth with each sentence I type. And so I keep writing, until my stomach calls for the restroom again.
25th June 2019