I Can’t even Keep down Water

Russia, 2019

Dani vomited again on our way back—noodles and water, then more water.

“I can’t even keep down water,” she said quietly.

The words hit me harder than she intended. She was pregnant, sick, and we were in a foreign country halfway around the world.

A flu had been moving through Russia that winter. Three days ago, someone had given it to me. Now, hours after I began feeling better myself, she’d gotten it too. I didn’t have to imagine her misery.

“I’m going to text your doctor.” I said.

Moscow was eleven hours ahead of California. One in the afternoon here meant two in the morning for her, but Dani knew she would help in a heartbeat. She handed me her phone then fell asleep.

I wrote her the facts: “Dani has the flu, and she can’t keep food or water. We are in Moscow, what do I do?” I feared I scared the poor woman, waking her to such a dire message, but I felt desperate.

She responded minutes later with practiced calm. “Tamiflu, but she might need an IV if she gets too dehydrated.”

Tamiflu: I didn’t know such a thing existed. It needed a prescription in the states, but not in Russia.

My map showed the pharmacy sat on the corner a block from our hotel. It had five or six transaction counters arranged down its length and surrounded by stacks of medications and cosmetic supplies. Another customer pointed me to a machine at the corner that spat out a numbered ticket when I pressed its single button. Monitors overhead showed which counter served which number. They lagged about twenty numbers behind my own, so I found a seat to wait.

“Tamiflu” I said when my number came. I came prepared with Dani’s phone translator expecting to explain this transaction, but the one word—even with my American pronunciation—was enough. She grabbed a box from a rack behind the counter and asked 1,284 in return. I hesitated. “No, not dollars. Rubles”—about twenty dollars worth. I slid my credit card over.

Medicine in hand, my next stop was to find us dinner. I also figured hot soup would “hit the spot” for her sick stomach.

Dani awoke when I returned, and she gave a weak smile. I had been gone for hours, but to her, it seemed like minutes. I set the soup before her along with the pill. 

“Yes Cutie.” She said. “I promise I will keep this down.”

She fell asleep after dinner, while my mind raced.

~

Moscow had private hospitals catering to foreigners: I chose one and sent an email.

“My wife and I are here on vacation. She is pregnant and has the flu. What should I do?”

The hospital staff responded a moment later, prompting a near real-time conversation: she needed an IV. I wished we had working health insurance here. I’d opted out, now I regretted that decision.

Our visas expired tomorrow. Emergency flights—leaving a few hours sooner—cost $5,000. If Dani vomited again, she would need hospitalization. I scrolled and clicked looking for another option.

Dani coughed and whimpered behind me while I refreshed the page again. Her breaths came fast and shallow, and sweat glistened in her forehead.

I looked at her and I prayed she kept her food down. I prayed she would feel better tomorrow.

I stroked her hair in the dark.

“You promised me,” I whispered.