TRAVEL MEMOIRS

Rabies Roulette in Sri Lanka: The Gamble I Didn’t Intend to Take

Navigating health risks in a tropical paradise

“Look, how cute!” I’d met my holiday nemesis, disguised in puppy form. He put me at risk of getting a dangerous viral disease, but I didn’t know it yet.

We had arrived at our cozy AirBnB in a small coastal village in Southern Sri Lanka. Palm trees were swaying in the wind and the dusky sky was painted in the most beautiful watercolors. A chubby little dog stumbled towards us, tail wagging.

“What a playful little fella,” I thought.

Hubby, aka The Dog Whisperer, crouched down to give him belly rubs. Reluctantly, I stayed behind. I’m a cat lady, and being bitten by a Rottweiler as a kid had made me wary of dogs.

Shortly though, the puppy won my heart, too. The homeowners introduced us to their four dogs, former strays adopted from the street. Little Fur Ball was the youngest and loved to chase feet as well as shoes, fake-growling. Which I laughed about, but not for long.

Soon, our little Sri Lankan oasis felt like a home away from home.

Hubby and I woke up early in the morning by chanting from the school next door, and chimed in. We would do yoga or go surfing before the sun stood too high and had lush breakfast – our AirBnB host ran a cozy outdoor cafe in front of the house.

Working online on the shadowy wooden terrace, looming palm trees swaying the breeze, felt like a treat. In our free time, we visited dreamy beaches, coastal towns, and busy markets. Gazing at the sun dropping into the sea, evenings were spent surfing (again)– to earn those hearty dinners of rice & curry, spicy roti bread, and fresh fish.

Tropical life was great until reality hit—or rather, bit.

I was sitting on the sofa, working on my notebook. Bored and up for mischief, the puppy strolled over, ogling at my feet. “Hey”, I shooed the little terrorist away, who had already left teeth marks on my Birkenstocks. Clumsily, he climbed next to me, and I petted him. Then, trying to answer emails, I tried to shove Doggo softly away — which he didn’t like. At all.

Snap-p-p. I heard my skin rupturing before I felt pain caused by sharp puppy teeth. Frustrated from not getting full attention, he’d bitten my wrist. The wound was not very deep, but the first drops of blood appeared quickly. Damn it, I know what this meant.

“Kerry, are the dogs fully vaccinated against rabies?”

Gingerly, I approached my landlord. Slightly embarrassed, but I had to ask. In Sri Lanka, rabies continues to be a serious health threat, with 250.000 bites from animals carrying the virus happening each year. As soon as the disease breaks out and the first symptoms are showing, it will end fatally — for stray animals, predominantly dogs, as well as humans.

Sadly, human rabies fatalities still occur in the country. The death of a 10-year-old boy from France, who was bitten while playing with a puppy, was still in the news. His parents weren’t too concerned at first, but when they arrived back home, it was too late.

To limit infection risks, domesticated dogs should receive regular anti-rabies shots, and travelers are advised to get pre-exposure prophylaxis of 2 to 3 vaccinations, which I had. Being bitten, I could still need post-exposure shots, though, depending on the furry offender’s vax status. So what did Kerry say?

“Sure, the adult dogs are fully vaccinated. The puppy isn’t yet, though.”

Oh, shucks.

Don’t hesitate to see a doctor if an animal has bitten you.

The general rule to avoid various infections is especially important if you’ve been attacked by a (former) stray with uncertain health status in a tropical country with a serious rabies situation. Hubby and I drove to the next public Sri Lankan hospital.

Although I did not expect The Ritz or European medical standards, I was a bit shocked on arrival. In a run-down building, people were stacked in dark, unappealing corridors, a patient management system did not exist, and the “rabies unit” was frighteningly popular.

Randomly I was pulled into the doctor’s office, together with a handful of others. Letting me explain, he looked shortly at my bite wound and said:

“Let’s wait it out and see if the dog survives. If he does, we don’t have a problem, and if not, well…”

I was gobsmacked; this couldn’t be right. Was the doctors’ recommendation based on stress from high demand? Or the fact that rabies vaccinations are scarce in Sri Lanka, as a nurse explained? Our only chance was to visit a private hospital in the next bigger city.

In the late afternoon, the streets were buzzing with Tuk Tuks, motorcycles, minivans, lorries, and buses. Our old scooter was a slow fellow though. Tightly holding onto Hubby’s waist, I tried not to scream when the Lanka Leyland buses cut our way. Those honking, furious monster vehicles drove recklessly and would win each collision. Sweating, covered in dust, we arrived in the private temple of health.

A front desk, a seemingly well-stocked pharmacy, and polished, almost sterile-looking hallways… I sighed with relief.

Yes, I caught myself feeling like a spoiled Westerner at this moment, but one with a proper health scare. Nonchalantly, a stray cat guided us through the reception to the emergency unit, where bites were treated and rabies shots administered, too.

When it was my turn, the friendly doctor asked me to sit down in his office. I stoically ignored the white bucket reading “body parts“ (no joke) — everything was neatly labeled here. He took my mishap very seriously.

There was a strict treatment protocol, depending on the severity and location of the bite, the animal‘s history, and your vaccination status. My pre-immunization, the doctor said, had bought me some time: Human anti-rabies immunoglobulin (administered to unvaccinated persons) wouldn’t be necessary. Phew! I was relieved – it’s heavier stuff, giving you immediate antibodies, but maybe severe reactions, too.

The doctor called the Center of Disease Control in Colombo, the Sri Lankan capital, to make sure understanding which kind of vaccine I’d received at home and what exact course to follow. I felt safe and in very capable hands.

In the end, I got the post-exposure rabies prophylaxis only – (5!) shots, administered on days 1, 3, 7, 14, and 28. The first one went in smoothly in my upper arm. Scheduling my next visit, the god in white joked:

“Oh, your second vaccination will be on your birthday! Maybe we should prepare a nice dog cake for you then?!”

LOL, ROFL, how funny. I smiled.

Anti-rabies shots became part of my routine, at least for a month.

However, I was lucky that vaccines were available for me at all. My travel insurance would reimburse the costs and I dodged a bullet.

Each trip to the hospital meant driving for 2 hours on the rental scooter, my bum vibrating along with the motor. I got to know the funny doctor better each time, met a talkative intern, and felt humbled being an unproblematic case among serious human suffering in the emergency unit.

One day, I witnessed a small boy walking out of the hospital with his parents, still teary, but proudly clasping a balloon. The staff was smiling tenderly, and me too. I remember the balloon being purple, just like the pretty lotus flowers in a vase on the front desk. What I’m getting at:

Every sweet moment counts, no matter if you’re holding the treat or watching someone else be happy.

Somehow, the boy became my idol. Hubby and I made our hospital trips special. We chatted to the locals, petted the hospital cat, and tried to memorize some Singhalese words.

Galle, the old coastal town where the hospital was located, offered plenty of treats: nice cafés and an old fort to visit. We bought textiles and went to our favorite tailor to get custom-made shirts. And we did a small detour so we could stop at a tea plantation. Occasionally, I felt a bit woozy from the shots, but hey… I take this over the risk of getting a virus disease any day.

Soon, another friend was bitten by a dog in Sri Lanka, and got vaccinations, too. I’ve experienced and witnessed lots of stories like this one during travels: Eardrums ruptured from surfing (leading to a costly medical flight back home), cut wounds requiring stitches, traffic accidents, and food poisoning. Health concerns don’t pause during holidays, and travel health insurance is a must!

Thank you for reading.