“You can either go to Serbia or America. We don’t have treatment for you here.”
They say the 3rd time is the charm. I don’t think I can agree with that catch phrase anymore.
That’s right, folks. I received my 3rd malaria diagnosis. I brought malaria all the way from Africa, but the problem is we’re no longer in Africa. It’s not as simple as paying just under $15 USD for medical attention. I can’t just walk in the clinic, get a finger prick, wait 30 minutes and walk out with medication. Oh no. I was stuck in isolation at a Serbian hospital for 5 days. And now that I’m out, I’m heading back to America.
Sit back and let me tell you how I got here.
Montenegro. My teammate called it our land of milk and honey. Our promise land. I didn’t even know Montenegro existed, and it’s a shame because it is beautiful here. Leave it to malaria to take some beauty away from it.
That doesn’t mean God wasn’t in the midst of it.
I started feeling the symptoms of malaria and finally decided I would go get tested. Malaria doesn’t exist here, so I knew that it was going to be a big deal to get a positive malaria test. The CDC would have to be called. I went to the clinic here and found someone that speaks English to tell them what I needed. Luckily the specialist for this type of illness was in town.
I get to the hospital, and after a bunch of failed attempts at charades and google translate conversations, the doctor called in someone that could speak English. In walked a doctor with personality and knowledge of the song Sweet Home Alabama (both a rare thing to come by in some cultures). My blood tests came back positive for malaria, and an uproar started. But thankfully, they told me the cost of the doctor visit and blood tests were taken care of.
A chat with the epidemiologist happened and the CDC was called. And then I got the news. There’s not treatment for malaria in Montenegro, so my options were Serbia or America.
Thank God for my team leader, Kayleigh, who called insurance for me in my frazzled state of mind. After a few moments on the phone, she moved it away from her face and asked me if I wanted a medical evacuation to Serbia. Our insurance company really came through for me. They agreed to cover the cost of travel, medical care, food,and lodging for me and one other person to come with me.
So my squad leader, Faith, and I hopped on a plane to Serbia. We didn’t know where we were going, but don’t worry, God provided again. As we were trying to tell the taxi guy where we needed to go, a man from Serbia (who teaches English) told us he would make sure we got where we were going if we could share the taxi. He ended up paying the full cost of the taxi, walked us around the city until we found where we needed to be, and stayed with us in the hospital to translate for me.
My test for malaria there came back negative, but they decided to treat me because of my first positive result. I thought I would just get medicine, but no. They admitted me into the isolation department, and my squad leader wasn’t allowed to stay with me. Luckily, another world race team on my squad just so happened to be staying in Belgrade that week not far from the Hospital. But it wasn’t just any team. This team just so happened to have my former team leader and wonderful friend, Nathan ,on it. Just the person I would want to see in this situation.
Oh, and there was McDonalds down the street from the hospital. Thank you, Jesus.
I stayed a little longer than I thought due to some extra tests. I got rid of malaria, but they wanted to do an ultrasound of my abdomen to check out what could possibly still be going on with the discomfort.
They found fluid in my lung, but didn’t do any further investigating. The doctor casually brought up that he heard a heart murmur. He suggested that I see a Pulmonologist and cardiologist at some point. They also believe I’ve never had malaria, but I’ll keep my comments about that matter to myself. They finally released me, and Faith and I hopped on a train back to my team.
These things could be nothing. I could be totally fine. But the further we go in the race, the more questionable medical care gets. So I’ve decided to come home. I’m going to see doctors that I trust. I’m going to make sure my heart and lungs are healthy.
If I can’t do ministry with my whole heart because of my health, then I don’t want to do it. I am trusting that if it’s in God’s plan to send me back to reunite with my team that He will provide a way. But right now God has given me His blessing to take care of me.
The race has been good. The race has been bad. It has been what I thought it would be and it hasn’t. I’m happy to go home, but at the same time the thought of being home right now is overwhelming. I don’t feel like my race should be over. My heart broke leaving my team. I don’t know what settling back into life in America will be like. What am I supposed to do there? I’m placing myself back into lives that have been continuing on without me since January. Where will I fit into that?These were all thoughts I was supposed to have in November when the race ended, but here I am on a train going to catch a flight 4 months early.
If you’ve done the race, you understand. If you plan on doing the race, these are things you’ll have to face. My advice? Seek the Lord through it all. Feel the confusion and the pain of the race ending, because it will end and it will be hard. You will have people who have been through this to talk to, so don’t go through it alone. Process. Talk.
But also, realize the blessings you’ll go back to. Thank God for the opportunity He gave you to travel the world to do His good works, and thank Him for the life He has given you back home. They are both special.
So watch out, Alabama. I’m coming back. For the rest of the year? For a month? For a week? I don’t know. I’m going to leave that part up to God.
It’s His story, anyway. I’m just taking it one step at a time.
