How I Survived 9 Days of Salmonella Hell in the Heart of NYC

** Please note that the images used in this story have been generated by Mid-journey to enhance the visual experience of my personal storytelling.

In March of 2013, I embarked on my first trip to the vibrant metropolis of New York City. Accompanied by my then-boyfriend, Tyler, we found ourselves immersed in the eclectic energy of the Big Apple, staying at the cozy abode of Tyler’s step-cousin Jake and his girlfriend, Molly, nestled within the heart of East Village. Little did I know, this trip would unfold into a tale of unforgettable trials and tribulations.

Our days were filled with the quintessential tourist escapades – from the dazzling neon spectacle of Times Square to the hallowed halls of NBC Studios, where dreams were born on the silver screen. The towering majesty of the Empire State Building beckoned, —a structure with an intriguing family connection, as my relatives once owned the land it stands on (why we’re not millionaires today, that’s another story).

While exploring in Harlem where we were visiting Malcom X’s memorial, we stopped at a restaurant in Spanish Harlem. Ignoring the faint warning of a modest “C” health inspection sign, thinking to myself , “Well, that’s not failing, right!?” I ordered a salad, thinking, “That would be a safe bet to eat.”

As twilight descended, we traversed the streets back to Time Square, where suddenly, a tempest of torment surged within me. The once-picturesque panorama of the city blurred as waves of nausea crashed upon me, leaving me reeling in agony. Desperate and disoriented, we navigated the subterranean passages of the subway, a surreal odyssey of sickness and sorrow.

Back at Jake’s, I found myself ensnared in the throes of an insidious affliction, each passing moment marked by a cacophony of suffering. The room spun as I struggled to retain my tenuous grasp on reality, the shadows dancing mockingly as if taunting my feeble attempts to find solace.  I was too weak to move, and the thought of a hospital bill scared me. Despite my hesitation, I took a Xanax someone offered. Thus, began me three days of haze and hallucinations.

The next six days, I confronted the abyss of despair, grappling with the chilling specter of mortality that loomed over me. The world around me faded into obscurity as I teetered on the precipice of oblivion, my very essence consumed by the relentless onslaught of illness.

Days melded into nights, a surreal layers of fevered dreams and fleeting moments of respite. As the veil of sickness began to lift, I found myself ensnared in the intricate dance of recovery, each tentative step forward fraught with uncertainty.

As I battled through the depths of sickness, I found myself once again confronting mortality while seeking solace in Jake’s bathtub. Thirteen months prior, I had a near-death experience, where I journeyed to heaven’s embrace. Through the blur of delirium, memories of that encounter flooded my mind, infusing me with a sense of inner strength and resilience. It was as if the love and support I had experienced in the blanket of heaven were now guiding me through the storm of illness, urging me to persevere and emerge from the darkness into the light of recovery.

On the ninth day, Jake’s father, who was visiting from Tyler, TX, happened to be a gastroenterologist! He diagnosed me with salmonella. His simple remedy was to drink 7Up. Which to this day I’m unsure if it were a joke. But miraculously, the “elixir”of his wisdom worked its magic, though whether it was the remedy itself or merely the power of placebo, I couldn’t say – nor did it matter in that moment of desperate need.

Reflecting on that harrowing ordeal, I’m reminded of the resilience of the human spirit and the boundless capacity for love and compassion that dwells within us all. Despite the chaos and uncertainty that marked my journey to New York City, it ultimately became a testament to the triumph of hope and resilience in the face of life’s greatest challenges.

Little did I know, this experience was just the beginning of my encounters with food poisoning. Over the years, I would face various forms of stomach illness, each different in its own right. Yet none would compare to the sheer agony I endured during that fateful trip to New York. If you’ve ever suffered from food poisoning, you know it’s a brutal hell. Perhaps, subconsciously, I sought to be close to death again, given my prior near-death experience. But I’m grateful that, despite the subsequent bouts of illness, none have come close to the severity of what I endured in 2013. I’ll gladly take the occasional mild food poisoning over the massive ordeal I faced in New York any day.