isobelll - with 3 l

I woke up on Sunday the 5 of April with a terrible headache and we checked into a double room at 11 am so that I could stay inside and sleep. (For the reasonable price of 130 Dirham for both of us). Which I did while Cat tried to find out what was wrong with me. I got worse during the afternoon and my fever climbed to a level were I started mumbling weird stuff and spontaneously cry like a little baby. As usual I was pulling my "ah, what the hell... it can't be that bad" while Cat, who 'd been doing his homework on google, knew that this could be something serious. The main suspects were The evil Heatstroke, Mr Malaria and Miss Dengue Fever. All who need attention after 72 hours if you don't wanna be in serious trouble, time was running out. Cause our main problem was my insurance company who insisted that I had bought a complement to my home insurance and that one couldn't be used until I'd been abroad for at least 40 days. WTF!!?? I' haven't HAD a home for nearly a year! What the hell are you talking about?




I got ill on Sunday the 5 of April, on Tuesday the 7 of April we got the call we'd been waiting for - it was all just "a system error" that I was forced to pay with my fever dreams. The headache was still going strong and I was now in different stages of consciousness. My whole body was in constant pain and I'd stopped eating.


The quest to find a doctor that we could understand began. Which proved to be a lot harder then we thought. Finally we found a hospital that had been recommended by an Australian insurance company and Cat helped me into a cab. Finding my way out of the hotel and in the busy streets of Marrakech was almost to much for me. But soon it was all gonna be over. My insurance company wanted to talk to the hospitals administration before approving all the medical coasts. But of course they were out somewhere and we had to wait another 2 hours while I was getting weaker and after waiting about an hour I broke down and started crying making everyone else in the waiting area nervous, these people were all family and friends of patients already admitted to the hospital. Cat tried to talk to the reception again but got ignored. Then I stopped breathing. I didn't realise that this was such a big deal, I just thought that I was gonna rest for a while and breathing was just way to much of an effort. Cat, real angry and scared by now, got a hold of a doctor who understood English and said something like "I want you to help my friend, she's dying!". All the sudden another doctor and some nurses came and took me away. I remember that he had a striped sweater and keept on wondering how the hell a respectable doctor can wear something like that and if he wasn't just way to warm for that pullover anyways?

The doctor and the nurses insisted on speaking French (probably cause they didn't know English but who knows) and when I clearly didn't understand them they switched to Arabic which made a lot more sense, NOT! What are you saying? No, please... I'm in pain! Painkiller anyone? Hello? What's wrong with me? Can anyone tell me what's wrong with me? Medicine, yes please but what is it? I got intravenous drip which made it even harder for me to know what they were giving me. I stayed in intensive care for 2 nights (I think) and slept most of the time. Freezing while my fever was raving throughout my body. At some stage a nurse came and helped me downstairs in a wheelchair. I meet a new doctor who made me stand in front of his X-Ray machine but as soon as I got up on my feet everything zoned out. It sounded like everything was so far away. I could feel myself leaving it all behind while my body started to sink to the floor. They seated me in the wheelchair again and the doctor looked equally worried and stressed. It took another two turns while the nurse pressed my body upright and taking her hand of my back just long enough for the machine to work it's magic. In the next room I was helped up on a table and yet another doctor tried to find out what was wrong with me by "ultrasounding" my tummy.

Finally I was strong enough to get out of hospital and back into my hotel room. But I had to call the doctor again the very next day, after waking up with rashes all over my hands and body - itching like hell. The over counter meed's didn't work and the doctor prescribed various Arabic medicine which made me feel a lot better - about 24 hours later. I wouldn't wish that itchy rash to haunt even my worst of enemies, or wait a minute, of course I would. I'm not some sort of saint - The perfect revenge, perhaps? As my sanity that had been compromised by my constantly itching hands was slowly getting back to normal and I was feeling a o better my body decided that I was fit for fight and up for round 3. WTF?!


I got real sick to my stomach and spent the night running back and forth to the loo and when morning came I was almost in the same state as before hitting the hospital except this time it was because of my tummy and not the pain. Weak and scared with the flight back to Sweden coming up the next day we called for the doctor a third time (!) and I suddenly had what seamed like a whole pharmacy next to me in bed. The Hotel we were living in got real worried at this point, is she ever gonna get well?

On the 14 of April we got on board the plane and left Marrakech. Our plan had been a romantic reunion on the Transahara festival in the middle of the desert with a week exploring Morocco before hitting the dance floor or rather dance dunes. Our "vacation" turned out to be something totally different but never the less exciting having that "near death thing" and all. With a stop over in both Paris and Amsterdam but neither of which we had the time to do anything but wait in the airport we were back in Sweden late that evening. And if I never have to decode someone speaking French again - it will be way to soon.