When my oldest sister lived in Saudi Arabia for five years, she got into the habit of bringing really nice gifts home to everyone in the family, each time she came to the States. As our first home-leave grew ever closer, it suddenly occurred to me that my relatives were probably expecting the same from me. Well, shee-yutt!! That was not a happy realization, for 1) unlike my sister, who loved/lived to shop, I pretty much hated it, and 2) even if I didn't, where was I supposed to find all these treasures? We were living on a company compound, in the middle of the jungle!
So, when my friend Peggy, the most organized, efficient person I know, invited me to go shopping in Jakarta with her, and said she even had a friend we could stay with, who would loan us her car and driver for the day, how could I say no? To tell you the truth, I don't remember much of anything about our time in Jakarta, or what we bought while there. I do, however, have vivid memories of the trip home. I bet Peggy does too.
You see, we had to get up around 4:00 a.m. that last day, in order to get to the airport and catch the co-plane back to Lhok Seumawe. There was no time to eat breakfast before we left, but I did remember to take one of the pills I had just been prescribed (I non't remember what for). John had picked them up for me on his way home from work Friday, and thrust them into my hand as I headed off to the airport. Anyhoo, on Sunday morning as we stood on the porch, saying goodbye to our dear hostess, I suddenly caught a whiff of dog-poo from somewhere in the garden, and that was all she wrote. A wave of nausea hit me so hard, it almost knocked me over! I ran around the corner of the house and barfed. My two friends were very concerned, and tried to usher me back into the house. "No, no. I'm fine. I always get a little queasy if I don't eat breakfast. It was just the smell. Besides, we've got a plane to catch!"
The traffic in Jakarta is just what you'd imagine it to be in most ginormous, third world cities. There is a lot of speeding up for a few seconds, only to slam on the brakes again, with continual whipping back and forth between lanes. In no time at all I was pretty sure I was going be sick again, but there was no way for our driver to pull off the road. Lucky for us all, the ever-prepared Miss Peggy whipped a giant zip-lock baggie out of her purse. By the time we reached the airport, I had filled it up.
Once inside, Peggy took care of checking us in, and I headed straight to the restroom, such as it was. Every time I'd think it was safe to come out, the nausea would hit me again. Peggy came to check on me, asking if I was certain I didn't want to return to her friend's house. "No! I just want to go home. Leave me here until they start boarding the plane, then come get me." By then there was nothing left for me to hurl, except maybe my intestines, and I was so exhausted that I just passed out on the plane, barf-bag clutched tightly in my hands.
When I finally made it to my house, I stumbled past my family and fell into bed. The next morning I felt much, much better, though I looked as if I had been in a bar-room brawl. Apparently, all that heaving had caused some blood vessels in my eyes to rupture, and the whites were now ruby-red. As I was telling John what I had been through, he began to get a very strange look on his face. "Uh, Beck? You didn't, by any chance, take one of those pills on an empty stomach, did you?" "Why yes, I did. Right before we left the house. Why do you ask?" "Well, I guess maybe I forgot to tell you what they said, about how important it was to only take them on a full stomach, huh?" I probably didn't speak to him for a week.
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