The hotel where I spent my last night in Paris was simple, but nice. Though I had left the hostel suspecting bedbugs without confirmation, I was determined not to spread any possible infestation if I could avoid it.
I left my luggage close to the door and separated my clothes into two categories: probably safe and probably unsafe. Unfortunately, my coat, sweater and scarf had all hung on a hook attached to the bed, putting them in the “probably unsafe” category. It was also too cold to go without them, and I hadn’t brought alternative options.
I put all the “probably unsafe” clothes in a plastic bag that I stuffed in my suitcase, but I needed the sweater, scarf and coat. I set them on top of my suitcase and contemplated going without cold weather gear for my remaining day. I decided I’d make a decision in the morning.
I took a long, hot shower and headed to bed in a towel. On the way to bed, passing by one of the large mirrors on the wall of the room, I got my confirmation of bedbugs: a path of bites going down the inside of my arm from elbow to the back of my shoulder in an ugly cluster, and then another trail going down my side to my waist.
I took photos of the bites, so that I could identify any new bites if they showed up.
But for then I was tired. I crawled into bed with my sister’s book that I had almost finished and meant to finish before I left the following day, but had no energy to read. I fell straight to sleep.
That was when the fever hit.