Unfortunately, my answer was not satisfactory to the doctor, and Maria excused herself as the dermatologist examined the red marks all over my body, checked my throat, and reviewed the notes that the nurse had taken just minutes earlier. Maria came back in the room just as the doctor was explaining that I had “varicela.” The chickenpox.
“Chickenpox? No, that’s impossible. I had the chickenpox when I was four years old.” But the doctor was steadfast in her diagnosis, and she immediately began telling me that I would have to spend the remainder of the week in the hospital so as not to risk infecting my roommates. I sat back on the examination table, realizing that my spring break was not going to be the trip I had anticipated.
Two days earlier, I was boarding a plane in Logan Airport bound for Cancun, Mexico. I was one of 16 Boston College upperclassmen in our group. Like most college students, I was pumped for a week of absolute relaxation, with zero mention of school work. Shortly after checking into the hotel and debating whether or not we would face the wrath of Montezuma’s Revenge, we dove head first into the all inclusive bar and ordered rounds of piña coladas, daiquiris, and every other mixed drink the menu offered. The rest of that day consisted of beach volleyball, lying out at the pool, and gazing at the ocean. It was the perfect first day of spring break, and I was thrilled for the week ahead.
I woke up the next day feeling a little off. After lying at the beach for a bit, I started getting chills in spite of the 80 degree weather. I went back to the hotel room and noticed a few blisters on my face and chest. I rationalized that I must have spent too much time in the sun and was just having a bad reaction. I napped for the remainder of the day and stayed in to avoid exacerbating whatever was happening to my body.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt a strange discomfort all over. As I walked towards the bathroom mirror, I gaped at the image staring back at me. My face and body were swollen and covered with small red marks. Moreover, I could feel that I still had a fever and had a haunting suspicion that the rash was somehow connected. I ran over to Maria and prodded her to wake up, explaining what was going on and asking her to come with me to visit the doctor on call in the hotel. The doctor gave me a quick examination and checked the inside of my throat. He explained in semi-fluent English that the rash was spreading through my body causing an intense fever, and there was little he could do on location. I would have to go to the nearby hospital and have my blood taken to determine what the illness was.
Maria and I filed into a cab and headed over to the hospital. I texted my mom as soon as we started to drive and I began thinking about the reality of the situation. I had some unknown illness in a foreign country with no international insurance, limited communication with my family, and 100 US dollars. I remember feeling intensely afraid.
I ended up staying in the hospital for 78 miserable hours. That first night, four of my roommates visited, more than a little buzzed, bringing some books, clothes, two beers and an ad for a nude adult bar. Despite their visit and well-intentioned gifts, I could barely muster a smile. I was relieved to have a diagnosis, but the anger and frustration of realizing that I would spend the remainder of my spring break in a hospital made me a less than gracious host.
I passed those four days in the hospital reading Gregory Maguire’s Wicked and watching a disgusting amount of television. I can’t say I actually enjoyed the majority of the programming, but it passed the time and helped me forget that I had herpes all over my body.
I got discharged from the hospital on the Thursday of spring break. I returned to my hotel room that night to a group of gracious and supportive BC students.
I can’t sit here and try to say that getting chickenpox in Cancun was a blessing in disguise, or that the lessons I learned were worth the cost. Being in the hospital for a week in Mexico during spring break sucked.But being the eternal optimist, I’ve tried to look at the positive side of things. I have an awesome ice breaker for any interviews or mixers that I may attend in the coming months, and I have not been shy about telling everyone I know about my story. I have a newfound appreciation for the way I look, and despite every Facebook picture I’ve ever detagged, I understand that they could have looked a lot worse. Perhaps most importantly, I realized that even though being in a hospital will never be an enjoyable experience, having friends who are willing to visit with a beer and a nudey bar ad can make all the difference in the recovery process.
True Life: I Got Chickenpox in Cancun
Alex Hirs
Published: Monday, March 15, 2010
Updated: Monday, March 15, 2010
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