Monday, July 13, 2009

Sick... though not quite as nicely rhymed as the shel silverstein poem

The events to be described in this blog have long passed, and I’m in tip-top shape, so there’s no need to fret…
It must be every parent’s fear when they send a son or daughter off to Peace Corps (or, with the new-age Peace Corps, a child’s fear when they send their mom or dad off to Peace Corps) that the volunteer will get sick during their service. Especially in Africa, with quite a spectrum of different illnesses.
In Mozambique, malaria is a huge problem, especially during rainy season. About a month ago, I went to the beach with a group of volunteers. The first night, I went to sleep pretty early, not feeling too great. I woke up the next morning feeling like doo-doo, with bad, shaking chills. I spent the morning sleeping in the sun on the beach, so I really must say that the beach was quite a nice place to be sick.
From there, I had no energy, no appetite, and just wanted to sleep. I couldn’t walk straight, and the few times I went to use the bathroom, I almost passed out getting there. I woke up in the middle of the night, and my pants were wet. I cringed in embarrassment, thinking I had, gasp, peed myself but then felt a little relieved when I realized that the rest of my clothes were also wet—I had just sweat through them all!
The next day, we left the beach to head back to our respective sites. That doesn’t mean a comfortable ride in an SUV. That means almost 2 hours on a bumpy dirt road in the back of a truck, a trip to the city (Beira) and plenty of waiting around while the guy who agreed to take us back to Chimoio visited his family, and a 3 hour ride on a delightfully-pot holed road between Beira and Chimoio… Misery.
I stayed in Chimoio that night because I didn’t think I could handle the 3-ish hour trip back to Catandica. I took an (expired) malaria test that night, which came back negative. The next morning, however, I was feeling worse yet. When I woke up from some crazy dreams, I thought I was being smushed by my blanket—it felt like it weighed a ton. I decided to get another malaria test. I could barely walk, but since there were only expired malaria tests in the house, I had to go to the hospital. Thank goodness another volunteer took me there. Though it’s normally only a 2 minute walk, I wouldn’t have made it alone.
While waiting for my test in the crowded (outdoor) waiting “room,” I noticed a lot of people staring at me. I doubt they’d ever seen a muzungo (white person) that sick before. Right before I got called in, a stretcher/ gurney was wheeled down a path with a person who looked to be knocking at death’s door on it. There was a nurse at one end and someone I’m guessing to be a relative at the other end, steering. In entering the building, they jostled the gurney around and ran it into a wall several times.
Of course, I tested positive for malaria. I hadn’t been taking my prophylaxis regularly because of its side effects (really bad stomach cramps), so I wasn’t surprised. My house in Catandica is full of mosquitoes, and I had slept outside without a mosquito net when we visited Nhamatema (the placed I talked about in my last post).
After getting diagnosed and getting some medicines, I started, bit-by-bit, to get better. I could drink some juice and occasionally could take a small bit of banana. I made up my mind to start getting better, which would require eating, so I went straight for a pizza. That’s when I knew with certainty that I was on the road to recovery.
Altogether, I was really sick for about a week and a half, both at the beach and in Chimoio. Luckily, I had a lot of folks there to help take care of me, for which I’m incredibly thankful.
I made up my mind to never go back to the hospital again if I could help it. Even though I was completely out of it, it was still a horrific thing to see. And that’s in the city. I can’t imagine how it would have been in the middle of the bush. The stomachaches caused by my prophylaxis are still very unpleasant, but I’ve been sucking it up because I don’t want to ever get malaria again.
I just plain don’t want to get sick in Africa again. If I’m going to be stuck in bed, at least let it be in a comfortable place with good plumbing, good doctors nearby, and maybe a TV.