Point Reyes Clinic
Point Reyes Hostel was busy, and I was fortunate that they let me in. The highlight was going to the Point Reyes Lighthouse and watching the whales go by. I saw three spouts, two flukes, and one breach. I was planning on staying just a little longer, but for health reasons I left. (I seemed to be the only one there with health.)
At 11 p.m., after the card game (do-rock, only Russian), I am surprised to be the only one in my dormitory room, so I move to the lower bunk. A young girl follows next, and I am dismayed that she leaves the light on to read her book. She also seems to have a bad cough. The rest of family follows shortly, and all seem to have pneumonia or the plague. The light is now a mere distraction. It is my life that I'm starting to worry about. After a cough fit that is certainly louder than anything in my memory, the lights go off, and I sleep.
Abruptly, just after I've made it to sleep, there is a loud thump. "My baby. My baby. Can you hear me?" Then to a different audience (me, I guess), "How long did he go without breathing? Was it more than a minute? Is anyone an EMS?" I hear a graphic description of all of the bodily functions that go off when a seizure occurs. "The hostel people say dial 911."
The hostel people beat me to the only advice I could offer. Then Mother says, "Last time this happened, I was told we didn't need to call 911."
"What's that smell?" one of the child pneumonia victims asks" I stay inconspicuous, feeling a little sick myself and eventually make it back to sleep, feeling happy to to have my health.
At a quarter to six, Mother and Son are discussing the situation, and Son is quite sure he will live. I learn that nothing needs to happen in the post seizure state, but that they will eventually be visiting the neurologist. I hear another chorus of deep coughs, signaling the movement of gallons of phlegm. I think they ALL should vist a doctor this morning.
I relocate to the living room to be out of range of the medical consulations and out of range of the diseased family.
I don't move much until after after eight, figuring that relaxation will help toward making up the sleep deficit. Bob, the Hostel Master, assigns chores, and coughs a few times himself. I conclude he has been infected and complete my five minute cleaning tasks cheerfully. (In a special case like this, I would also fumigate cheerfully.) I load everything in my car.
"Where are you going next?" Bob asks. "I don't know." "That's always a good place," says Bob.
At 11 p.m., after the card game (do-rock, only Russian), I am surprised to be the only one in my dormitory room, so I move to the lower bunk. A young girl follows next, and I am dismayed that she leaves the light on to read her book. She also seems to have a bad cough. The rest of family follows shortly, and all seem to have pneumonia or the plague. The light is now a mere distraction. It is my life that I'm starting to worry about. After a cough fit that is certainly louder than anything in my memory, the lights go off, and I sleep.
Abruptly, just after I've made it to sleep, there is a loud thump. "My baby. My baby. Can you hear me?" Then to a different audience (me, I guess), "How long did he go without breathing? Was it more than a minute? Is anyone an EMS?" I hear a graphic description of all of the bodily functions that go off when a seizure occurs. "The hostel people say dial 911."
The hostel people beat me to the only advice I could offer. Then Mother says, "Last time this happened, I was told we didn't need to call 911."
"What's that smell?" one of the child pneumonia victims asks" I stay inconspicuous, feeling a little sick myself and eventually make it back to sleep, feeling happy to to have my health.
At a quarter to six, Mother and Son are discussing the situation, and Son is quite sure he will live. I learn that nothing needs to happen in the post seizure state, but that they will eventually be visiting the neurologist. I hear another chorus of deep coughs, signaling the movement of gallons of phlegm. I think they ALL should vist a doctor this morning.
I relocate to the living room to be out of range of the medical consulations and out of range of the diseased family.
I don't move much until after after eight, figuring that relaxation will help toward making up the sleep deficit. Bob, the Hostel Master, assigns chores, and coughs a few times himself. I conclude he has been infected and complete my five minute cleaning tasks cheerfully. (In a special case like this, I would also fumigate cheerfully.) I load everything in my car.
"Where are you going next?" Bob asks. "I don't know." "That's always a good place," says Bob.
Labels: travel
posted by David Rasmussen at 6:47 PM
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