On being trapped in a hospital after travelling to Mexico

Where the author tells how after an innocent visit to his GP he ends up locked in a hospital room with a view, dressed in Health Services pijamas the craftsmanship of which brought him back memories of his own grandfather, a blue mask and plenty idle time, to be more precise, at least 48 hours ahead, to read, sleep, take some flu pills, measure his body temperature, talking on the phone with far away charming nurses and writing things such as this I’m writing now.

Carlos III Hospital, where our fellow user is kept locked

I came back from Mexico April the 11th and the following 17th I went to Tokyo, where two days after my arrival I started feeling feverish, with a strong pain in my back and limbs. Also, over the rest of the week, I had occasional chills. All of these probably due to, or maybe not, an accumulation of lack of sleep, jet lag and a light cold.

I’ve got an aunt who once had a tick, a far more dangerous bug than it might seem at first glance. The thing is I was back this last Monday night from Tokyo with two tiny boils in my scalp. I searched in my own private world and found a self diagnosis, an astonishing stunt of my imagination, tick bite. That’s where my Japanese fever comes from, I reasonably guessed.

Next morning, a Tuesday, I told all these things to my GP who, after checking some rashes in my back and listening to my explanations as if he were hearing gossip, meaning, my trip to Mexico, he chose to send me through emergency services to run some tests.

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My hospital room.

My first emergency doctor welcomed me with a patronizing tone as if I were an average paranoic terrorized by apocalyptic prophecies aired on television, adding collapse to the regular chaos of the scarcely diaphanous emergency services. "Doctor". I wanted to answer him, "I’ve came to talk about my tick".

He sent me for further blood tests and dismissed me with a "it’s been too long since you’ve been to Mexico". That would be it, but for the nurse, who, when extracting blood, asked what happened to me. By then I wasn’t too sure and talked about certain fevers I had had last week in Tokyo and about my trip to Mexico two weeks ago. Suddenly everything sped up, although in a first moment her face seemed on ‘pause’ mode. She looked at me with surprise, mumbled something and quickly fitted a mask over my mouth. She called the rest of her workmates who started asking things to me on fever dates and travel dates. One of them started panicking when I mentioned Tokyo to him. They made their figures out and concluded that my first bout of fever had ocurred, by a thin edge, within the ten-day incubation period. At that very moment, though I ignored it by then the protocol was activated.

This two guys dressed as alien hunters drove me in an ambulance to the Carlos III Hospital . I was wearing a mask, blue gloves, tartan shirt (I’m the sort that wears his Sunday’s best when going to the doctors) and a yellow cover magazine (an old Etiqueta Negra issue to help beating boredom that morning).

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This is what I see.

Once in the hospital, I’ve received the following message: "You’ve got to stay for forty eight hours in hospital, isolated in a room. Visitors aren’t allowed". After a glance at my face he added: "Of course, you can leave if you wish to, only I’d have to report the Judge".

After that, a nurse wearing blizzard goggles came back for extracting some more blood, this time by the left arm, and also she introduced several sticks through my nose and throat. "Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked. "No", was their answer. Later they softened up and allowed me to the toilet.

Some time after another person came to take me to what would be from then on my bedroom. All the way he was indicating to all staff about the plague arrival. I still had to wait for a while in the lift as he, half his body out to the corridor, was making gestures. I saw a small library were I picked up a couple of books by Vázquez Montalbán. I asked if I could borrow some of those books, but they said I couldn’t, "because then they had to be thrown away". I’ve asked for change of one euro into smaller coins so I could watch TV in my room, but again they denied it, they couldn’t accept my coins.

But I can’t complain. I’ve got a room just for myself, from where I can see the new Plaza de Castilla Towers. Sunset is wonderful; nurses, noisy and maternal.

There’s a sign in the bathroom door that states "Only for patients", quite a useless appreciation in a room where no visitors are allowed and where the only people who seldom enter, covered in masks and goggles, are my charming nurses bringing food, Tamiflu, Xumadol and burgers in tomato sauce that bring fond memories of childhood. Also, they’re never angry because I cannot read the thermometer, forcing them to dress up again before entering my room. Yesterday’s log 99'86º Fahrenheit, (37’7ºC). Today, 98'6º Fahrenheit (37ºC).

Finally I get my girlfriend’s survival pack, but I’m not allowed to see her. Books, magazines, comics, a radio receiver and, not sure if by chance or irony, a t-shirt in which one can read in red letters on a grey background: México Destroyers.

Before going to sleep I’ve received an sms from a girlfriend: "Gabilondo (popular journalist) says the flu’s already in Asia".

It wasn’t me.