We can make plans, but it is God who directs our steps. This past
weekend, our plans altered drastically from the course that we had
intended. A vacation to Puerto Galera had been in the works for months,
and John was eager to show me the beautiful white shores where he had
worked on his previous trip to the Philippines. We had reserved a suite
at Tamarah, a hotel resort by the beachfront, and planned to rendezvous
with John’s friends Sam and Meg. Our bags were packed, our spirits high.
The night before our journey, I came down with a fever.
As the next morning dawned, I felt no better. My stomach was churning, my head burning. If it was just me and John, we may have stayed back and delayed the trip, but John Langham was meeting his girlfriend, Nykki, at the Manila airport that night. She was due to fly in at 11pm, and the four of us were going to share the suite. From Manila, there was still a bus to be taken to Batangas, and then a ferry to Mindoro, and yet another tricey ride to reach Tamarah. Of all of us, only John knew how to get to Puerto. And so I took Ibuprofen and half a glass of wine to calm my stomach and the three of us hopped a Victory Liner bus to Pasay, Manila. It was roughly a two-hour drive.
At the halfway stop, I was feeling nauseous, and so John helped escort me to a bathroom. I didn’t make it in time. I lost the wine. When we arrived in Pasay, we hailed a taxi and drove to our hotel. Once in our room, I collapsed on the bed. My fever was steadily rising, and my body was weary. It peaked at 104 F. Alternately chilled and roasting, I bounced between the two extremes. John was at a loss. He was my constant caretaker, supplying me with fluids and cold cloths for my forehead, switching me from Ibuprofen to Paracetamol. My state was such that it was clear I could not travel all the way to Puerto Galera. John gave specific instructions to Langham, and the next morning, he and Nykki headed off to Puerto. John paid for another night at the hotel in Manila.
I couldn’t keep anything down, and was now in my third night of fever, showing no signs of improvement. John feared that I had contracted Malaria, as my symptoms pointed toward it. He never stopped praying for me, even as he prepared our things and arranged for a taxi to drive us back to Subic Bay. The driver brought us to George Dewey, a newly renovated hospital built by the US army during their occupation in Subic Bay. We arrived at 3am. After hearing my symptoms and taking my temperature and blood pressure, I was put on an IV and had blood samples drawn from my arm. I was admitted and wheeled into my room.
Looking over at John, I could see the relief wash over his face. It was as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt as though he had placed my care in capable hands. He had not caught much sleep over the past few days, and I was glad that he felt at ease.
We got a name for it the next morning. The blood tests were negative for Malaria, Dengue, and Typhoid, but my urinalysis showed that I had ‘Acute Pylonenephritis,’ a urine infection. And they began treatment right away. And slowly, the fever began to dissipate. With the aid of Paracetamol, ice packs applied to my head, and sponging my body with icy water, the fever began to release its hold over me, while the antibiotics targeted the infection. And slowly, I started to regain my appetite.
We are home now. I am on a bed rest of sorts, and finishing out my antibiotics. My health is restoring. I find I am ever so much more grateful for health when it is stripped from me. It is so glorious to sleep soundly through the night! And to wake with a clear head and be welcomed by the bright sunshine as it spills in through the curtains, making the room glow with the light.
George Dewey Hospital was by no means the Tamarah vacation resort that we had envisioned. It wasn’t what we had planned. Having my body racked and ravaged with fever was not something that either of us desired. Even in the midst of it all, though, we never stopped giving God thanks. Thanks for protecting me. That I never once – though I reached 104 three times – was delusional. Thanks that I wasn’t pregnant during that ordeal.
I have been reading a book called ‘One Thousand Gifts.’ It challenges us to be grateful and in everything to give thanks. It brings to our attention how many times in Scripture that prayer is accompanied by and they gave thanks. Too often, we tend to think of God as blame-worthy rather than praise-worthy. He is truly worthy of all praise. In everything. Blessed Be the name of the Lord.
originally posted on November 8, 2011
As the next morning dawned, I felt no better. My stomach was churning, my head burning. If it was just me and John, we may have stayed back and delayed the trip, but John Langham was meeting his girlfriend, Nykki, at the Manila airport that night. She was due to fly in at 11pm, and the four of us were going to share the suite. From Manila, there was still a bus to be taken to Batangas, and then a ferry to Mindoro, and yet another tricey ride to reach Tamarah. Of all of us, only John knew how to get to Puerto. And so I took Ibuprofen and half a glass of wine to calm my stomach and the three of us hopped a Victory Liner bus to Pasay, Manila. It was roughly a two-hour drive.
At the halfway stop, I was feeling nauseous, and so John helped escort me to a bathroom. I didn’t make it in time. I lost the wine. When we arrived in Pasay, we hailed a taxi and drove to our hotel. Once in our room, I collapsed on the bed. My fever was steadily rising, and my body was weary. It peaked at 104 F. Alternately chilled and roasting, I bounced between the two extremes. John was at a loss. He was my constant caretaker, supplying me with fluids and cold cloths for my forehead, switching me from Ibuprofen to Paracetamol. My state was such that it was clear I could not travel all the way to Puerto Galera. John gave specific instructions to Langham, and the next morning, he and Nykki headed off to Puerto. John paid for another night at the hotel in Manila.
I couldn’t keep anything down, and was now in my third night of fever, showing no signs of improvement. John feared that I had contracted Malaria, as my symptoms pointed toward it. He never stopped praying for me, even as he prepared our things and arranged for a taxi to drive us back to Subic Bay. The driver brought us to George Dewey, a newly renovated hospital built by the US army during their occupation in Subic Bay. We arrived at 3am. After hearing my symptoms and taking my temperature and blood pressure, I was put on an IV and had blood samples drawn from my arm. I was admitted and wheeled into my room.
Looking over at John, I could see the relief wash over his face. It was as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt as though he had placed my care in capable hands. He had not caught much sleep over the past few days, and I was glad that he felt at ease.
We got a name for it the next morning. The blood tests were negative for Malaria, Dengue, and Typhoid, but my urinalysis showed that I had ‘Acute Pylonenephritis,’ a urine infection. And they began treatment right away. And slowly, the fever began to dissipate. With the aid of Paracetamol, ice packs applied to my head, and sponging my body with icy water, the fever began to release its hold over me, while the antibiotics targeted the infection. And slowly, I started to regain my appetite.
We are home now. I am on a bed rest of sorts, and finishing out my antibiotics. My health is restoring. I find I am ever so much more grateful for health when it is stripped from me. It is so glorious to sleep soundly through the night! And to wake with a clear head and be welcomed by the bright sunshine as it spills in through the curtains, making the room glow with the light.
George Dewey Hospital was by no means the Tamarah vacation resort that we had envisioned. It wasn’t what we had planned. Having my body racked and ravaged with fever was not something that either of us desired. Even in the midst of it all, though, we never stopped giving God thanks. Thanks for protecting me. That I never once – though I reached 104 three times – was delusional. Thanks that I wasn’t pregnant during that ordeal.
I have been reading a book called ‘One Thousand Gifts.’ It challenges us to be grateful and in everything to give thanks. It brings to our attention how many times in Scripture that prayer is accompanied by and they gave thanks. Too often, we tend to think of God as blame-worthy rather than praise-worthy. He is truly worthy of all praise. In everything. Blessed Be the name of the Lord.
originally posted on November 8, 2011
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