Typhoid, the Chin Hills and when people arrive at just the right time

It's 40 degrees. The height of Burmese dry season. But I am wearing my thermal vest, two jumpers and a hat. The fever sends me into shivers, where I cannot get warm, even as I sweat my way through my layers. And then, all of a sudden the fever breaks and I lie in my puddle of sweat shaking. 

Over water festival my dearest friends came to visit. We traipsed our way through the Chin Hills. We watched a cow getting sacrificed by bow and arrow. And along the way, somewhere, I picked up typhoid. Or typhoid and typhus, depending which doctor you talk with. Being my stubborn self I refused to admit anything was wrong. I was so determined to enjoy my friends from Europe, that I lost sight of anything except the need to keep going. 

But in Hpa'an Karen state, I finally admitted defeat and visited a hospital, was rushed back to Yangon and finally, was evacuated to Bangkok. Along the way, I met a most interesting Nurse, Tom. She's Thai, but her job is to medically evacuate people from Myanmar. She meets people at their weakest, angriest, sickest. Despite being evacuated first class I wasn't able to eat the delicious food or drink any of the complimentary champagne, instead I listened to Tom's stories of the people who've died on her in evacuation flights out. 

So finally, in Bangkok, with my IV drip and my trusty kindle, I am recovering.