This was written the first week we were in Uganda. I am in Tanzania now and in perfect health, but I thought I would still share the experience with you!
I made a schedule of the times I was supposed to take the medicine I had been given. One every twelve hours, another every eight, another two pills with food, and doxicycline to protect me from malaria every morning. I began the round of medicine at dinner time and by morning I was flat on my back sick. I thought it was a good thing Janina had known to take me to the doctor the day before. I got a rather cryptic email from my dad that made me worried and my friend Bev decided it was time to take me to the hospital to be safe.
We got a cab to the hospital (not the nursing home this time), a man who looked like he may have been high took my blood, they ran some other tests and…the doctor told me that my blood test came up negative for typhoid. Everything came up negative. He also told me many other things like it isn’t possible to have a fever without having chills and even though he didn’t seem convinced that I was sick at all he thought it was a good idea for me to keep taking the typhoid medicine.
I wasn’t sure what to think. How does typhoid come up positive on one test and negative on the next? I wasn’t convinced that the second doctor was even looking at the right chart because there were many scattered on his desk without names. I was angry by this point because I was tired of Africa, the way so many people here speak in circles, and doctors who don’t seem to know what they’re doing. This is my health, can’t someone just give me a straight answer?
Discouraged and frustrated, Bev and I made our way to the church. I was prayed for, encouraged, and asked if I wanted to go to an international hospital. I couldn’t think straight. What was I supposed to do? I just wanted to go home to somewhere familiar, to a doctor I felt like I could trust. I needed to go back to our guesthouse and rest before I could make anymore decisions and my teammates offered to step in, find out more information, and make a good decision since I wasn’t feeling up to it. I went home, skyped my parents to update them, and as soon as the connection cut out Janina and Marisa were taking me to the international hospital.
To be honest, the international hospital wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. I was frustrated that I was still in a place where they mixed up my papers twice (the man who took my blood thought my name was Andrew) and the electricity cut out. But the hospital seemed more sterile, the doctor seemed more knowledgeable, and the bill was certainly much higher. The doctor told me that what I actually have is a bacterial infection. He says that probably the reason the first doctor thought I had typhoid is because typhoid is a bacterial infection and so it sometimes looks like it, but really the only reason I believe his prognosis is because I trust God and I feel better.
These past few days have been really hard for me. I have not wanted to be here in Africa or any third world country. The only place I wanted to be was in America, in a trustworthy doctor’s hands and in my bed where there is peace and QUIET (we live in a guest house beside a slum with a bar that blares music 24/7). It has been hard to hold myself together and this morning I didn’t. I needed to get away, but I still didn’t have much energy. I got ready for the day teary-eyed but didn’t make it down the stairs without sobbing. I was physically sick and tired, emotionally drained, and homesick.
Bev and Sara on team Dunamis came to the rescue and took me to a salon that was more peaceful and restful that I could have imagined. I got a pedicure, a manicure, a 30-minute massage, and a facial (that is one nice thing about Africa – things are not very expensive!). Afterwards Bev and I went to a restaurant that serves American food and I ordered a nice juicy cheeseburger, fries, and a caramel milkshake.
I thank the Lord for today. He always knows what I need. He also knew that I needed to hear it was my duty to take up my cross and follow Him, which He reminded me of through a conversation with a young girl from our church right before we left for the salon. It is hard to take up your cross when your cross is your health, and it is hard to take up your cross when all you want to do is run in the other direction from what you have been called to do and the people you have been called to help. I didn’t want any of it anymore, but Jesus gave me an oasis in which to be restored and He knows I can’t say “no” when He asks me to do something. So I persevere on, I persevere harder than before, and I persevere knowing who my God is and loving Him more than ever. Even if I am sick, even I have typhoid, even if I die, He is still good. I will follow Him into hard times. Oh Jesus, teach me to follow You into harder places still.
