My Dengue Experience

Some of you may have noticed my sudden and prolonged absence in cyberworld. Most of the time, such absences of mine are usually brought about by either laziness or simple lack of material to write about. Or both. This time, however, is a bit different: I had dengue fever.

It started out innocently enough. Muscle and joint pains that I thought was just me being plain lazy. And slight fever, which wasn't really all that unusual if you're me. I called in sick the next day, a Friday, to sleep it all off. Sleep is usually my cure-all, from dry and ugly skin to colds and fevers to headaches and heartaches. So I slept. But instead of feeling better, I kept feeling worse. I had a headache so painful I actually briefly entertained the thought that it might be brain cancer. Oh and dengue also went as a passing thought but you know, it's something that happens to other people... Not very unlike brain cancer, actually. By nighttime, my housemate Brian bought me a couple of Biogesics and like miracle, everything disappeared after about fifteen minutes of taking a tablet. Biogesic lang pala ang katapat.

Armed with more Biogesics, I even reported for work on Saturday morning. I promptly went home and slept after though and if not for the magical tablets, I would have been rendered absolutely dysfunctional. And because the fever returned every time the effect of the drug wore off, I asked Nuna to get me some antibiotics. In the meantime, I researched about dengue. I had all the symptoms: severe headache, fever, muscle and joint pains. No rashes, however. The articles did say that sometimes there are no rashes. That did it. Armed with my overnight stuff, Nuna and Binbin brought me to St Clare's Medical Center on Dian St.

I had a platelet count of 181. Low but still normal. The next day, we went back for another test. My platelet count had dropped to 129. Panic ensued. But only between Nuna and me. Everyone else was calm. We took a cab and transferred to Chinese General Hospital where the place at least was a bit familiar. Again, except for the two of us, nobody seemed to think that there was an emergency. And there I was thinking I was about to die any minute.

But I didn't. I survived four days in the hospital, with needles constantly drawing blood from me. These were days when the only news that was of any importance was how low my platelet count had dropped. I had to drink bottles and bottles of gatorade and was to stay away from dark colored food. And I finally understood something I always wondered about in the past.

I never could understand why people always complained about hospital food, until I had to eat it myself. I used to think of it as something akin to airplane food, which I kind of like but everyone else seemed to hate. But while food on the plane is a part of all the excitement brought about by travel and adventure, the food in the hospital represented my total helplessness, immobility  and weakness. On the first night that I was faced with the cold and tasteless meal, I teared up, looked at Nuna and said, "I feel so kawawa." Nuna bought me wanton mami from Chowking.

Although my platelet was not stable, it did not go lower than 129. The lowest while I was already in the hospital was 152 and that's still within the normal range which is 450-150. I was finally discharged on Thursday. I still feel weak. And I might have gotten thinner. And I tire easily. Plus I got my heart broken again, for the gazillionth time. But hey, I'm alive.