How scared have the headlines made you? What have you heard from other missionaries that had the fun experience of suffering through malaria? What has modern media fooled you into believing? How bad do you think the mosquito born illness really is?
I can tell you right now that I was pretty skeptical when it came to the idea of even getting malaria. It seemed like my biggest warning before leaving was to make sure I took my pills and wear head to toe covering to protect me from the evil insects that could poison my blood. I stocked up on quite a large amount of anti-malaria tablets before departing the U.S. for 11 months, pretty certain that I would be taken care of if I was bitten by an afflicted bug. I was confident that I would be able to fight through anything and was basically setting myself up with the expectation that I was impervious to any unfortunate bouts with illness.
Allowing those ill conceived thoughts to creep into my mind, I took the first seven months in stride with little to no problems with my overall health. I had no interest in popping antibiotic medicine for 11 months straight so I basically took the pills when we were warned of the threat of malaria in a particular place. Once I stepped into Uganda, however, all bets were off.
After 3 days of active ministry in a new country, I woke up at about 3 a.m., feeling like my stomach was being rung out like a washcloth. My esophagus was sending up unfortunate burps of gas, leading me to run towards our lovely bathroom and the porcelain squatty potty (aka a hole in the ground with designated foot holes). After removing most of my digestive tract into the floor, my body began to pulse and throb with pain. I came out of the bathroom to find 5 concerned teammates and all I could do was collapse in hopes that my body would be soothed by the cool cement. My team covered me in prayers and moved my sleeping place to the ground but in my heart I knew something worse was coming.
The next day our contact took me to the local clinic to be tested for the M word. I felt so weak by the time day 2 rolled around that I started to walk like the hunchback of Notre Dame. I dragged myself into the doctors office, hoping to be given some pepto bismol and a prescription of bedrest. My sorry looking self was sent to the blood lab to be given a pain shot in my right buttcheek, a prick in my finger and a laugh from the nurse at how white my rear-end was looking that day. After waiting for a grueling 15 minutes, it was confirmed. I had absorbed the most unfortunate side affect of all African mosquito bites. I had malaria.
I wasn’t really mad or frustrated at anything, I just mostly despised being sick. I had just arrived in a new country with a new ministry and I was forced to be clocked out. Malaria has the unfortunate way of fooling you into thinking you will never get better. It takes the track of making you feel signifcantly worse before you head towards any shade of recovery. I knew the Lord was going to bring me around from feeling terrible to being normal again but the forces of evil tried to make me believe otherwise. Everything about malaria itself is not fun, but somehow my Father grew my soul in bigger ways than I was ever expecting.
Stay focused for part 2 to learn exactly what He did to bring me around (p.s.- we made it into month 10- TANZANIA!)
