AA--Tabuk and its Hospital (2.5-8.26

"It's what you've always wanted--a completely immersive travel experience," my daughter Camille assured me, after hearing I'd been hospitalized in Saudi Arabia.  As Dave and I headed for the check-in counter at the airport in Tabuk, a large Saudi city at the north end of the Red Sea, on February 5, 2026, I wobbled and nearly fell. I had also been wobbly and pale the day before, despite drinking bottle after bottle of electrolytes. Our guide, Amanda, said that I'd need to be checked out by the airport doctor before getting on the plane for the last leg of our journey, to Riyadh, capital of Saudi Arabia.  

After half an hour of blood pressure, temperature, and blood oxygen tests, the airport doctor told me he couldn't approve my flying to Riyadh at all that day.  My blood oxygen score was in the low 80s, which was life-threatening and below the minimum needed to board a plane.  The doctor ordered an ambulance and I was hauled off to King Fahd Regional Hospital.

I was lucky.  King Fahd Regional Hospital was a brand new, specialty hospital with talented emergency room doctors and a whole team of pulmonologists.  They diagnosed me as having pneumonia, probably brought on by dehydration.  When I arrived home in SLC, I showed my Intermountain Health Care doctors my medical records from Saudi Arabia, and the IHC doctors said that the treatment I got in Saudi Arabia was exactly what they would have prescribed.

We met the emergency room doctor who had admitted me on the steps of the hospital, as I left.  Her eyes were warm and twinkly as she put an arm around me.

The nurses who cared for me were also capable and kind, and most of them spoke English.  The only exception was one nurse who ordered me out of bed at midnight, the beginning of her shift, to clean up my room because she thought it was too messy!

Although the medical treatment was good, there were definitely cultural differences.  The TV in my room was tuned to a continuous live stream of pilgrims at Mecca walking round and round the KABA.  

There were signs posting the five daily prayer times, which change slightly from day to day.

Although I had a private room with a private shower, there were no towels.  When I asked the nurse how I could dry myself, she pointed to a paper towel dispenser.  Dave brought fluffy towels from our hotel, 30 minutes away.  The hospital food, though, was excellent, like eating meal after meal at a good Middle Eastern restaurant.

My primary doctor, Dr. Arjumad, visited every day.  Even on her day off, she made a hurried visit, wearing sneakers and a pair of pants under a shorter abiya.

The doctors told me I could be released when my blood oxygen hit a score of 92 for fifteen minutes.  Dave and I practiced every day with a small blood oxygen monitor he had brought on the trip.  On Sunday, February 8, 2026, after three days in the hospital, I finally reached that milestone.  The head pulmonologist visited to tell me he recommended I stay another day or two, despite the blood oxygen reading, because he thought I was still sick.  I said, "No, no, no, I'm going home," and left "against medical advice".  As I slept at our hotel that afternoon before catching a plane to the US in the morning, Dave kept waking me up and walking me around, to make sure I didn't die.  "I'm just fine," I protested groggily.  In fact, it took another two or three weeks, until we were well into our next trip--a cruise through Melanesia--for me to feel completely well.

I could hardly bear to look at the photos of Riyadh and its surrounding areas, that our tour members sent with their wishes for my recovery.  I may never be back, but I did, indeed, have a "completely immersive travel experience" that I will never forget.