How to Lose 10 Kg with Typhoid Fever

I have horribly unrefined taste. That can be a good thing when it comes to being adventurous and trying new foods, since it’s a rare occasion when I come across something I don’t like, or would mind eating. I’ve tried beef testicles, chicken feet, tripe, tongue, you name it. Though most would say that not being picky is a good trait, that quality has actually gotten me into really deep trouble, as in, hospitalization. It’s kind of an annual thing for me to succumb to some sort of gastrointestinal disease, the latest of which was typhoid fever.

I was in Indonesia for about half a year and though the food is amazing, the conditions of preparation can be murkier than the tap water if you venture outside of reputable restaurants. There was a week when I was so overwhelmed and excited by all the local choices that I exclusively ate street food. Immediately following that, I got sick. Like, whole body shutdown, complete purging, debilitating pains: a restart-to-default type of sickness. I couldn’t hold anything down, even water. This constant vomiting and the fact that I couldn’t even replenish my lost fluids led to dehydration. I felt like a dried up corpse. It was like all the water in my cells had evaporated, leaving me shriveled and cracked up as I melodramatically prepared for what seemed like an imminent death. Naturally, my family decided that it was time to go to the hospital.

 

typhoid

A familiar view.

 

I was bedridden, hooked up to an IV and feeling half dead for three days before the hospital personnel found out what was wrong with me. After diagnosing me with typhoid fever, the doctor asked, “what did you eat?” with an intriguing grimace.

Shortly after, I consulted Wikipedia on how one acquires typhoid fever. This was one of those rare decisions that you instantly regret. I realized that my doctor was grimacing because she was fully aware that I had eaten shit. Not shitty food, but actual human shit particles. I wanted to scream. I was so mortified; more mortified than when I was twelve and my sister caught me Googling “How to be a Hot Girl”. What did my doctor think?! A cold panic swept over me from the thought of seeing her again. Thankfully that never happened, or it would’ve been impossible to meet her eyes.

After two weeks of convalescence I was discharged, ten kilograms lighter due to the fact that this whole experience basically obliterated any appetite I could have – a sort of PTSD. When I returned to Canada months later, I fell back into the familiar role of listening to my sister’s lamentations about gaining weight. One day I jokingly suggested that she eat poop. Sadly she didn’t appreciate the comment, opting instead to shake her head and say, “how are you so weird?”