Two days had passed since my foot had grown fat as hell. What started as a small itch in the middle of the night had become so large, I was having trouble fitting my right hoof inside my Converse sneaker. I was for the most part able to ignore the discomfort in Ho Chi Minh City, but by day 2 in Hanoi, something wasn’t quite right. Not knowing what to do, I continued wandering around Hanoi with friends by foot, boozing liberally to numb the pain. Our day was great: we toured colorful markets, played Frogger crossing through disorderly traffic and motorbikes, and found some incredible back alley pho; definitely the best I’ve ever had. We hit up coffee shops and bars, and marveled at the many chickens literally crossing the road.
That evening however, back at the hostel, I removed my shoe to see that my foot now looked like this:
Yikes, I thought, as I cracked open another beer. As I played- and dominated- in a game of pool against some unruly Canadians, I started thinking about my future. New Years Eve is just two nights away! I have to be able to dance and operate around a moving junk boat. It was at this point I decided to take a trip to the emergency room. I couldn’t decide if I was being dramatic or if it was actually necessary but I figured if nothing else it would make my nervous father happy.
It was during the next few moments that I had a realization. Somehow during my extremely detailed six months of trip planning I had forgotten to buy traveler’s insurance. Knowing that it was probably too late to count for anything, I immediately purchased an Allianz plan online, figuring I’d sort it out later, and convinced two friends to accompany me for a hospital adventure. I was scared. The Vietnamese hostel staff proceeded to give us the name and address of the Vietnamese hospital, not the international hospital. And not knowing any better, off we went.
Our cab first took us to a hotel which was a bit odd but around the corner was the hospital, and we made our way inside. At this point it was about 11:30PM, can’t recall what day of the week, and the doc and his staff seemed surprised to see us. I quickly learned that little to no English would be spoken during this visit. The next two and a half hours consisted of me playing charades trying to explain that I had a bite, couldn’t walk, and was hurting. The doctor asked me in his own version how much alcohol I’d had to drink. Two, I lied. They poked at my foot, laughing while doing so, and I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or laughing with them, so I did the latter.
They put me in a wheelchair which was quite fun, rolled me over to another room, and stuck a needle in my arm. The blood test several minutes later concluded that I had indeed incurred some sort of infection from an insect. I would survive, they announced and I rejoiced in high-fives with my friends.
My grand total upon check-out was barely 75 USD which covered the ER visit, blood work, and four medications including an anti-biotic, pain killer (Codeine), an anti-histamine, and anti-inflammatory. A friend even grabbed me a fresh bahn-mi off a street vendor once we got home to eat with my medicine, the perfect nightcap to an exciting day in Hanoi complete with wheelchairs and needles.
It took about 36 additional hours for the swelling to go down but the good news was that by New Years Eve, my foot fit in a flip flop and I was skipping around Ha Long Bay and the Cong Ngha boat happy as a clam.
The end. Unless, of course, I have a baby in the next two years and find out I was actually bit and infected by a Zika-carrying mosquito, then this story is to be continued.