It Was Well Overdue

Diarrhea hit me for the first time today. I suppose with everything I've been eating, it was well overdue. I was at work when that familiar rumble that indicated "we don't have much time" started bubbling through me. The Vietnamese understand the word "toilet" so I haven't actually learned how to say the full sentence "Where is the bathroom?" I walked up to the nearest medical student and said "toilet" with some urgency in my voice.  She directed me to a restroom where the sounds clearly indicated someone was taking a shower. I looked helplessly at the nurses and said "another toilet?" They laughed, yelled out to the person taking a shower, and then told me "five minutes." I was now faced with only a few options: I could either beg them again to find me another toilet, try to find one myself in the crazy maze of patient rooms, try to make it all the way to my hotel 10 minutes away, or try to wait. I chose to wait, with each minute punctuated by a more desperate plea for "toilet." By the end I was going up to the nurse, pointing at my stomach, making a grimace, and saying "toilet... please." I'd rather have to learn humility by begging for a bathroom than learn humility by having crap running down my leg. After what felt like forever, one of the nurses took pity on me and directed me to a different bathroom. I couldn't have been happier going into that nasty little room with the open bucket of water on the floor next to the toilet, the toilet paper on the mildewy windowsill, and the rusty shower-heard hanging on the side wall.