Isolation

Unfamiliar sounds resonating beyond our door.

Beeps.

Thuds.

Your mind wanders.

What's going on in the room just beside us?

Alone, for two hours. Periodic visits from different people, all doning gowns and gloves. All in timely intervals to check up on us.

Bored.

What are we doing here anyway?



Not an hour after posting my last blog entry, did I not succumb to the same fate as Brent. And there we were, for 48 hours, lying down, helpless and terribly ill. Stricken by sharp and strong stomach pains and unable to keep any food or fluids in our system. No fevers, so it couldn't have been the flu.

Food poisoning was our best guess. But after spending the last 48 hours in a vertical position, we were determined to find out more.

After another fabulous phone encounter with our insurance company - which I must say, is always a frustrating experience - we hobbled our way to the Southland Hospital for further investigation. I had only had about 500mL of liquid in the last three days, we were beginning to grow concerned over possible dehydration. Brent's been able to keep more liquids down, but is still consuming much less then is normal for him.

Immediately, we are ushered into an Isolation room - over concerns that we could have the Noro Virus, a virus that has shut down other hospitals in New Zealand over the last few months.

A doctor looks us over and gives us instant disolving tablets for 'anti-sickness' and two pills to take in 20minute intervals, which should calm the stabbing pain in our abdomens. A pitcher of water each, and two hours of observation.

That's what the NZ doctors prescribed.

In the end, we found ourselves to just be bored, and more then ever hungry. A good sign, I guess, as we really haven't eaten anything in at least 24 hours except for a few Ritz crackers. Everything else was definitely rejected by our bodies prior to that.

A stomach bug. That's their best guess.

But why isolation for 2 hours then?

We felt a bit better leaving the hospital. Probably because the pills we had taken were masking our real pain.

We jetted out to get some much needed food. We were so hungry.

And tired of just sitting here in Invercargill waiting to get better.

It didn't take long for the mask to wear off, and the illness to come creeping back into the picture. Not long after our triumphant small lunch, did we not both keel over with stronger stomach pangs and dizzy spells. Fuzzy heads. Angry tummies.

Back to bed we go, for another day and night is wasted in this country.

Four days into the ordeal, and a $405 hospital bill later - we're really not better off. Still battling nausea and fuzzy head syndrome, now fully equipped with cabin fever, we sit and continue to wait for our bodies to recover from our 'stomach bug' and find strength and a will to eat again.

One cup of soup at a time.

Hoping that it will just stay down this time.

Four months into our trip. Our third medical visit. Our second bout of illness.

Currently too weak to depart on our 2 week tramp through Stewart Island.


Boo.