Nothing went as planned.

You could safely say everything went to hell.

What was supposed to be the best time of my life – apart from becoming a father – turned into three months of chaos, illness, and frustration. Now I’m sitting alone at a hostel in Singapore, trying to find some peace – quite literally breathing deeply, one breath at a time.

Not exactly Superman – but still a super man 😉

According to the plan, we should be married by now. We should’ve been on our honeymoon. Maybe sitting on a beach in peace and quiet, sipping wine and talking about the future. But reality turned out differently.

When I arrived in Thailand in March, we started looking for a place to live in Chiang Mai. We imagined a simple apartment, but after just a few viewings, the pain in my body became unbearable – I had to go to the hospital. House hunting was sheer agony. We decided to rent a cheap house with three bedrooms, an office, two bathrooms, a living room, and a kitchen – all on one floor.

As if that wasn’t enough, Chiang Mai was hit by a strong earthquake with its epicenter in Myanmar. We felt it clearly. Several aftershocks followed. While Bangkok was hit hard, we were even closer to the epicenter in the north. I was suddenly relieved we had rented a one-floor house instead of one of the top-floor apartments we had been looking at.

And then came the next problem – the documents we needed to get married. All I really had to do was show up at the Norwegian embassy in Bangkok and have my papers from home verified and stamped. In theory, easy. In practice, impossible. The embassy closed to visitors after the earthquake and prioritized what they called more "serious matters." Our case wasn’t considered important enough. Without that stamp, we couldn’t move forward. And without help from the embassy, we were stuck.

Time was running out. I had only a 90-day stay in Thailand, and without the embassy’s help, we were about to lose our chance to get everything done in time. We tried everything – visited countless offices, Laila spoke to people who tried to assist, she was in contact with politicians, bureaucrats, and officials from various departments, and spent hours on the phone. Legally, we had everything we needed. But the routines and practices at the offices told a different story.

In the middle of all this, my pain actually started to ease a little – but that’s when I began to sense that something else was seriously wrong. My body had started reacting in completely new ways.

It was confusing at first. Out of nowhere, I became dizzy, nauseous, short of breath, and started sweating heavily. No logic. No pattern. It could happen anytime, anywhere – like lightning from a clear sky. A normal day would suddenly turn into a bodily emergency. It felt like I’d been poisoned, but I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything strange. No smells, no exposure. I couldn’t pinpoint a cause. And that made it worse. I didn’t understand what was happening. Could it be psychological? Stress, as one doctor suggested? I didn’t know what to believe.

Had Laila done something? Had she poisoned me – intentionally or by accident? Had she mixed some magical Thai herbs into my food – something recommended by an old wise woman in the village, meant to give me strength but that ended up making me sick?

I started suspecting everything – even the wok pan. Was it made from something mysterious or treated with some obscure chemical? I eyed the spice jars like suspects in a crime scene. Could something in the spices be making me sick? The kitchen felt like a threat. Everything seemed like a potential enemy. Could it be something in the house we rented? Was I being poisoned without knowing it?

My mind spiraled, and the constant confusion, dizziness, and fatigue didn’t help. My brain was in slow motion, yet my thoughts were racing. I couldn’t make sense of anything. For over a month, I genuinely thought I was going insane. What the hell was wrong with me?

Eventually, I began to see a pattern. As long as I stayed home or was out driving with Laila, with no food around – and we were alone – I didn’t get seriously ill. I was tired and exhausted for no clear reason, but I could manage. The reactions came when food was nearby, when someone wore perfume, when it got hot, or when stress or crowds appeared. As long as I avoided all that, I held up. Not well – but I got by.

But if I was exposed to a trigger, my body hit the panic button. Everything shut down. I began to realize I couldn’t tolerate anything anymore. Whatever I ate made me sick. Even smells made me sick. People too – yes, I became allergic to people.

The worst moment came when Laila was cooking and I had such severe breathing problems she had to rush me to the hospital. We stayed half the night until they let me go on the condition I’d come back if it happened again. A few days later, it hit hard again – this time at a market. I collapsed onto a bench, took every medication I had from the hospital, and sat there with an EpiPen in my hand, wondering if I’d have to use it – and whether it would even help. Was this the end?

It became a routine – in the worst possible way. I could be sitting calmly at home and suddenly feel like I was dying. My strength would vanish in minutes. Sweat poured. I gasped for air. Often, I had to lie down to avoid fainting.

After extensive testing, consultations, and my own research – including help from artificial intelligence – things started making sense. It turned out the only things my body could tolerate were beef, salt, and water. Everything else triggered a reaction. The pain was constant. The doctor wanted to give me stronger meds, but it was prolonged medication use that helped destroy my system in the first place. So I refused. I decided to recover – without more drugs. I didn’t have a choice. I had to get better.

Eventually, we realized I had developed a severe form of immunological hypersensitivity – likely a variant of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS). My body was reacting uncontrollably, as if it no longer knew the difference between danger and safety. Everything could set off a reaction. As you can probably tell, I’m doing better now. I’m far from healthy, but I can stay at a hostel, as long as I’m cautious and take it slow.

It will take time. Doctors say between two and five years. But there is a path forward. I’ve started rebuilding my immune system. It’s a delicate process. A lifestyle change. One day at a time.

Right now, I’m in Singapore. Alone. That wasn’t the plan. But Laila says she found out that if we go to the Norwegian embassy in Bangkok, we can finally get the documents we need to get married when I return to Thailand. I hope she’s right. We’re just as in love as we were in the beginning, and now that we’re apart again, we might miss each other more than ever. This is exhausting. It feels like the universe is doing everything it can to stop us. We’ve been tested – with illness, pandemic, earthquakes. But we won’t give up. One day, we will get married.

The blog has been quiet. I simply haven’t had the strength to share anything. All my energy has gone into surviving. Understanding. Coping. I can’t promise I’ll be very active going forward either – not yet. Right now, my health has to come first.

Behind the scenes, things aren’t always what they seem.