Sick & Alone

“We agonize over our body, our mind, our money, or what the emperor is going to decree — never about anything inside us.” Epictetus, 2.13.11

Next to a four-story bulwark, below a highway with an inconveniently placed speedbump which trucks rattled over all night, on the bottom story of a traditionally designed cement-adobe house in a rented guest suite, I fell ghastly ill while totally alone.

There I hallucinated for two and a half days in the grasp of fever dreams while not occupied by crawling to the bathroom or leaning on the wall next to the stove. From the king bed of a bedroom overlooking the waves of Zicatela beach, Mexico’s pipeline, I struggled to breathe while fighting the compounding stress of an unnamed illness pulling me towards darkness (covid?).

The fear, stress, and unpredictability of being sick and alone behind a locked door put me in unchartered territory. Who, in this distant Mexican town where I knew no souls, could help or heal me? What if I never saw anybody I love, ever again? What if this sickness deformed my body forever?

In the end, I was fine. Although my initial formula of ibuprofen + electrolytes + nutritional food failed to heal me, my resourceful self found a way to get better. This article is the story of how I beat a fever and respiratory infection without any TLC from others.

First, the background:

In those days a beachfront billiards hall occupied many of my nights. The crowds, beer, and stimulation of playing angles really spoke to me. On weekends, the hall transformed into a mecca of locals and travelers both national and international. Everything about its atmosphere fascinated me; artisanal mezcal, the audible crash of waves, its people, and its kitchen operating into the night.

In retrospect, this was the perfect place to get sick. And sickness did strike after a drunken night of bumping elbows and smiling across the bar.

Second, the Recovery:

I bought as many electrolytes as I could carry in a canvass bag. I trudged to find food when my hands shook too much to make it myself, eating salad and yogurt to pad doses of ibuprofen. Yet after nearly two days, I was still running a fever and sweating in the midst of potent air-conditioning. I still felt horrible, and my hope was beginning to dwindle.

As Harvey Dent said, “the night is the darkest just before the dawn,” and in my desperation I dug deeply into my intuition, listening intently for any corporeal signal to guide me. This is when it occurred to me: winning would take every ounce of energy still left in my depleted body.

So I fasted, dry, no water, and no more electrolytes or even ibuprofen. I meditated, Wim Hof Style, only when my body had sufficient energy to stir. And I slept, 18 hours of 24. Then, like magic, the fever receded and a ravenous hunger cajoled me into buying the biggest, greasiest sandwich I could find.

Lastly, what I learned:

Being sick & alone taught me how important listening to my body is. As modern humans, we tend to seek logical solutions for almost everything — we listen to our reason and what we are taught is reason. This mindset drives technology and innovation, and is good, but is ultimately fueled by some deeper whisper in ourselves urging us to seek a better life; logic is this whisper’s tool. Logically, ibuprofen and liquids should have reduced the fever and flushed out of me the foulness. After all, how many countless other times in my life did this work?

When logical protocol failed, I turned to that inner whisper and asked it how to survive. It answered me in the darkest hour of the night, urging purification through fasting. And somehow this worked, despite the inconsistent hypothesis of “feed a cold, starve a fever.”

I also learned the importance of mental strength here. Yes, maybe I’m a stubborn knucklehead for not seeking help, but this was early in my Mexican travels, and independence seemed intertwined with wellbeing in a way where I couldn’t surrender to an impulse to ask someone else to care for me. This was a self-imposed test of resilience and mental strength.

Mental strength and resilience are the best friends of any traveler — and any person. Especially during moments of loneliness, where no one to help is anywhere near, summoning the mental strength to push on despite seemingly insurmountable stress and odds makes for a strong character. One could call this breaking a Mental Sweat.

Finally, I learned about loneliness. Physical vulnerability, as an individual, is extremely high. Facing thoughts of untimely and lonely death exposed vulnerability, but also enlightened and reminded me that when I die, only one consciousness, soul, and energy will leave me and that I am the only one truly able to nurture and cherish this consciousness, energy, and soul. In this sense, summoning my inner strength to bear the brunt of loneliness is solely my responsibility, and a responsibility which when upheld makes me exceedingly strong.

Survival is a collective process but occurs nonetheless on an individual scale every day. Tales of survival inspire us because, in the whisper of each of our souls, a drive to alleviate ourselves from suffering and live better than before is innate. Listening to our inner whisper, being mentally strong, and understanding loneliness are all practices that move us closer to being the ultimate survivor, philosopher, and traveler.

Feel free to reach out to me at mentalsweatofficial@gmail.com, or on social media accounts.

-Justin Markowitz