Warning: there is graphic content in this blog, so if you have queasy stomachs or are easily embarrassed, go ahead and skip this article. Maybe go read my blog on the safari in Kenya- that’s a good one. And lighthearted, too.
Disclaimer: I am currently drugged up on all sorts of medicine from the clinic. No judgment on what is to follow.
I thought I was on the home stretch. I had been feeling awesome, running and working out every day, heading to ministry with fervor and enthusiasm, I even taught a swing dance class for the teams here. (It was a blast).
Then one day a bunch of girls from another team started getting sick and went to the clinic. Malaria. Of course. I still felt fine, however.
That night, around the time my squadmate Rayna began feeling sick, I myself started getting dizzy and nauseated. Perhaps I had just used too much energy, or ate something weird. I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag and went to bed early, hoping I could just sleep it off.
Rayna came into the room a while later to tell me that she felt like she was going to throw up, and didn’t know what to do. I should pause to tell you, at this point in the story, that I have a pretty extensive background in medicine. No, I’m not a nurse or a doctor, but I spent nearly my entire life volunteering as a student athletic training, an intern in an emergency room, and a shadow at an ambulance service. I have held me First Aid/CPR/Professional Rescuer Certification since I was in my early teens. I’m no expert, but I’m fascinated by medical science, and am very interested in health and healing and helping people take care of their bodies. I used to read paramedicine books for fun. Weird? Probably. But when I say that Rayna came to me, she thought I might have some educated advice to make her feel better.
However, since Pepto causes her problems, the best I could answer her from my stupor was, “I’m so sorry, sweetie. If you start throwing up, no matter what time it is, you come and get me. Wake me up, no matter what.” She told me she would, and went to lay down herself. No more than half an hour later, we could hear her in the throes of a heated battle between her stomach and her mouth.
I dragged myself out of bed to check on her, but when I got there, she was standing up and laughing a bit. “You need to go to the hospital,” I said. “I know you don’t want to, but this is not something you should mess around with.”
Begrudgingly, she agreed, especially after I said I would go and get checked with her. No one likes to go to the hospital alone. My team leader called a taxi, and off we went to our destiny.
When we arrived, around 12:30am, maybe 12:45, the lab was obviously closed, and the clinic was experiencing another power outage, something very familiar, albeit disconcerting, in this town. A doctor had waited very late for us, and immediately put Rayna on an IV (using an oil lantern from 1896 for light). I had yet to throw up or experience diarrhea, so I opted (against the doctor’s wishes) to wait until morning before I took an IV. I wanted to make sure it was, in fact, malaria before I treated symptoms. In a clinic where the squatty potty is consistently covered in discolored feces from misfires and medical professionals don’t wear gloves or check vitals or ask for medicine allergies, I personally believe you cannot be too careful. So I opted to wait.
Bad idea.
Around 3 am, the vomiting started. And it was terrible. With all the medical history I have, I still honestly did not believe a human body could hold that much vomit. I just kept going and going and going- like the energizer bunny on steroids during a blackout, and he’s angry. At one point- because I was throwing up with my head below my shoulders, spaghetti and vomit and bile entered my sinuses where they would spend the next several hours burning away any sense of happiness and goodwill I ever had.
By the time the lab opened at 7:30 in the morning, I was blazing hot. Have you ever had such a temp that you feel as if the whole world might be collapsing onto your skull? The nurse didn’t even wait until my thermometer beeped its conclusion. Once it reached 38* Celsius, she called in the doctor who simply said I had a very high temperature and needed medicine. At this point I was too weak and in too much pain to respond. My headache was overwhelming, and I felt like I had pins and needles doing the tango on every inch of my skin. Every muscle in my body felt like it was cramping or spasming, and I felt like acid was figure skating in nearly all of my joints, especially behind my knees.
i should have practiced malaria abstinence.
But medicine was not to come quickly. They gave me a finger prick which was surprisingly painful, probably because of the whole skin-pins-tango thing, and went to test my blood for malaria. Over an hour later, Brent got mad and went to find out what the *harmony was going on. The doctor followed him back into the room, and told me they needed to draw more blood to test for typhoid as well. He didn’t say if I had malaria or not. So he drew blood from my elbow vein (that’s a technical medical term, by the way) and said he would be back soon.
Another hour later, he returns with two nurses, lots of evil pointy things, and bad news: no typhoid, but a very serious case of malaria. And shame on me for refusing medicine last night.
So I am given an IV, which was not nearly as bad as I was imagining, and a shot in the butt- not the hip, the actual glute- which was far more painful than anything ever. Okay, perhaps that’s a bit of an overstatement, but it was the worst pain I felt during the whole run of becoming a veritable pincushion. The needle was painful, the medicine was painful, and the muscle spasm it created for the next TWO DAYS was painful…is painful. Currently. Still.
Ugh.
Anyway, Day One Complete; Night Two beginning, and again with no power. I honestly don’t remember a lot of what happened on that day except when the nurses came to change my IV- because it was painful- and also that I spent nearly 10 hours sweating out my fever on one of the hottest days in Uganda. I don’t remember feeling this miserable since I suffered from H1N1- the swine flu- several years back. …Yes, I’ve had a miserable track record with ridiculous illness. But hey- go hard or go home, amiright?
I slept off and on throughout Night Two, with nurses still changing my IV, one of which was far more painful than the others. I’m told it was because my vein was starting to clot and they were having to push the clot out in order to get the medicine in. Sounds terrifying and dangerous? You bet it was! So in the morning the doctors decided to have my IV switched to my other hand, where the nurse missed the first vein and had to try again in a different part of my hand. Still not as painful as that dang butt shot.
so many IVs…
I spent most of Day Two sleeping and moaning and coughing and having my IV changed out. I twice visited the squatty potty where, again, a misfire had happened and I had to be uber-careful of foot placement so as not to bring back unwanted visitors. Gross.
The end of the day came, the doctors told me they wanted to give me just one more IV, to help with the weakness I was feeling, and fine: so be it. It did end up making me feel a little more energetic, if not dizzy and spinny and- if I must admit it- a teensy bit loopy. Which is probably why I’m going to regret writing this article in the middle of this goofy episode. But while I can still recall information, I figured it best to write everything down. I go back tomorrow to get checked- for what, I’m not sure- and to receive oral medication for the next 3-10 days, depending on various factors I’m not familiar with yet. I have confidence I will be back up on my feet sooner rather than later, and at the very least, I had a crazy adventure in a third-world clinic, with oil lanterns and monsoon-heavy rainstorms, and a plethora of drugs that hopefully will knock this birdbrained parasite out of my system for all time.
In my last article about malaria, I said it was no big deal. I was wrong. Yes, you can experience malaria without major symptoms. But honestly- and from traumatic personal experience- don’t take illness in a foreign country so lightly. I should have gotten re-checked a week after my medicine ended, but I felt “too great” to “still be sick.” And I ended up with a much worse and more dangerous case than was necessary. Please, if you get sick- with anything- go get yourself checked out. It might cost 100,000 shillings, but it’s worth it to take care of your body properly. At any sign of misfeeling or discomfort, go to a doctor. Don’t be an idiot like me, and wait until near-death**. It’s not worth the pain that follows. But at the end of the day, praise Jesus! He never left my side.
Stats:
(Total) Days in hospital: 4
(Total) Nights in hospital: 3
IV bags: 5
IV locations: 3
Needle pricks: 8
Types of Oral Medication: 15
Score: Malaria 2 Andi 0
And the chess match continues…
*a euphemism switcheroo, if you will.
**near-death, like what one might experience while making the dumb decision to skydive***
***don’t ever skydive. this is not advocacy.
