It’s 1:00 PM Friday and my watch alarm goes off alerting me
to take my malaria prophylaxis.
I scoff
with all the energy in my increasingly weakening body and let out an audible “feck
you.”
My tangled body lay with my head
at the foot of my bed and my arms semi-tucked under my body with one knee near
my chest and the other leg somewhere I can’t seem to locate.
I pump myself up with all the motivational
praise usually for the youth I work with and stretch my arm under my mosquito
net to reach in my suitcase for the thermometer.
This, my friends, takes everything out of
me.
I rest a beat then uncase the wand
and place it in the heat pocket under my tongue.
It seems like brain surgery trying to figure
out how to work the thing with the solitary button controlling all the
functions (how I felt using an iphone for the first time).
“Give. Me. Answer.” I groaned softly.
It finally seems to tick up and my eyes close
waiting for the “beep-beep.
beep-beep.”
102.4.
That morning I was supposed to head to Bolga (the mailbox
town) to give a presentation at a volunteer fair and run some errands. The following day, I was supposed to take up
my backpack again for a six-day trip to the northern capital city, Tamale, then
to Mole National Park to spot some wild things.
When I woke up on Friday, I felt a vomit on the brink and an even more
urgent call from the other end. Though I
felt achy and pretty rough, I thought it was only because of the little sleep I
had gotten and brushed it off. Once at
the bus stop and ready to hurl again, I surrendered and accepted the cute guy
who works at the general store’s offer to give me a lift home. Through his coruscating smile he said, “you
look dull.” I’m chalking that one up to
language barrier and not taking offense. As I lay in bed feeling like my energy was
being vacuumed out and replaced with an agglomeration of pain knit together by
the creepy little parasite, I kept thinking about the unfortunate timing. I felt wretched for missing the volunteer
fair that I know my colleagues back in Canada put hours of preparation into,
and I felt that I was letting my friend Rianne (a volunteer from Holland who is
heading home soon) down by postponing the trip to Mole. Ultimately, this is when all of the time I’ve
spent reading and praying and meditating on the concept of the current moment
being the only one we live in came into play.
I was able to (truly only by the grace of God) understand that I’m in
the situation I’m in, I can’t control it, and I can only act from where I
am. I let go of what I couldn’t change and
focused on what I could—getting treatment and rest. I realize that Malaria is mild compared to
other things I could have and might face physically, but I’m taking this as
preparation for anything that may come my way.
This is something I had to keep reminding myself over and over and over throughout
this story.
After confirming in my mind that I definitely had malaria, I
called Veronica, my nurse friend, and she promptly came over. She saw me sweating and shivering and urged
me to go to the hospital which was the last thing I wanted to do. I begged for drugs like a junkie in
withdrawal while tears streamed down my face as the sheer thought of moving
sounded like a marathon. She won the
battle as I couldn’t fight any longer and she slung me on the back of a friend’s
motorcycle and got on the back of another.
Once we arrived at the hospital, we were tossed from the pharmacist, to the
doctor, to the lab tech, to the waiting area, to the lab tech, and finally back
to the doctor, all which took about an hour and a half with lots of
moving. All the waiting room sitters
stared hard and shamelessly at the weird looking white lady zombie about to
topple over. The doctor looked at the
lab results that stated malaria and informed me he would have to admit me
overnight. Boys and girls, I
wailed. I had already been on and off
crying as my brain felt like fire, my muscles ached like I finished an ironman,
vomit and diarrhea kept threatening, and my body yearned to be horizontal like
lungs crave air. (note: I would say I’m
usually quite tough when it comes to pain or illness, but I think because I’m
always focused on prevention and I’m extremely blessed, I never deal with too
much of it.) I was crying in front of
the nice doctor for a few reasons: I JUST WANT TO LIE DOWN AND I’VE BEEN
WALKING AROUND FOR TOO LONG, I wanted to go home, and frankly…I was nervous to
be treated at this hospital. I truly
mean no disrespect for the doctors and nurses who cared for me and were genuinely
concerned about my health, it’s just, I’ve never spent the night in the
hospital and I didn’t want this to be the first experience. I’ll explain as we go on. So, the sweet doctor tried to persuade me
using all the tactics: compassion, scare, and straight begging. He even tried on a different word thinking it
was “admitted” that I was crying about, so he said, “no no, we won’t admit you,
we’ll just detain you!” Yeah, no, that
actually makes it worse. Finally, I gave
in knowing there was a bed in my near future and Vero walked me to the
ward. The female ward of this hospital
has 30 beds, noisy fans, and a hole in the ground to relieve yourself. All the nurses looked pristine in their
uniform dresses and stark white caps pinned to their heads or their pressed
shirts and trousers (though things seem old-fashioned in some ways, the notion
of nursing being a female profession doesn’t carry—there are many male nurses
here and very little commentary about it).
I couldn’t tell if I had somehow walked into a time warp and ended up in
the 1950s or if I was hallucinating from the fever.
 |
| I swear this is almost exactly what the ward looks like
except the walls and floors are concrete, everything is less standardized, and they don't give you a cover sheet and pillow |
 |
| the female uniforms look like this except with a peter pan
collar |
I was guided to my bed where I was hooked up to an IV and
shot in the butt with some meds. I tried to get some rest, but the loud TV was
blaring in the corner and the lights were never fully shut off. The lady beside me might have coughed up a
piece of lung onto me and I constantly had to run to the bathroom. Because Vero is a nurse and has connections,
she asked if I could use the staff toilet which they generously allowed. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled and privileged brat, I want to continue to share how I felt honestly and I’m still too tired to be PC right
now. The toilet room I used had no
light, the toilet had no seat and no flush, which made what I needed it for
very unpleasant. I was still extremely
grateful, but my desire to go back to my house was growing. Vero and Joe were both so incredibly
thoughtful and caring that I know I couldn’t have made it without them. Both bringing me food and whatever else I
needed--they were my angels. I made it
through the night and impatiently awaited the doctor to make his rounds. (insert: we are only in the current moment, we can only do what we can do, this too shall pass, etc. etc.) When he finally reached me, he checked my
notebook, and asked how I was doing.
Thinking of the scratchy sheeted cot I was constantly brushing bugs off
of, and my beautiful cozy bed at home, I mustered up an emmy-winning act and
told him I was feeling great. He nodded
and told me to stay one more night for observation. I almost lunged at him and told him, “I must
go home today, sir, I must.” He chuckled
and lectured me about oral medication compliance. I must have nodded like a child while her
parent listed the chores she had to do before Disney World. After the last IV drip dripped, I was sent
home.
I rested and slept and bathed and slept in my cozy home for
the next couple days. I’ve been taking
my Quinine (the favored cure of the 1940s) faithfully, but it's causing some
hearing loss that I'm hoping will be temporary or I will be geriatrically
screaming, "WHAT?!" constantly through the rest of my twenties and
beyond. Sadly, getting malaria once doesn't mean you won't get it again,
BUT I am feeling better each day and each hour and finally feeling human
again. I’m celebrating every victory! My pee is clear! Food doesn’t repulse me! I can stand up for more than a minute without
feeling faint!
 |
| Look how happy I am eating an apple! |
I know all this was mellow-dramatic and it’s not like I lost
an arm or anything, but I thought it would be fun to share in detail exactly
how I felt in all the moments. Once
again, I’m not trying to pass judgment on the lovely people at the hospital or
anyone else here, I am simply stating my discomfort with what I’m not
accustomed to. And truthfully, I realize
what I’m accustomed to should be cherished.
I am so grateful to be privileged simply because of where I was born to
experience such luxuries we take for granted.
All the nurses I was blessed to encounter are intelligent and capable,
but just lack resources. But this is a
diatribe for another time.
My dear DEAR loved ones who have showered me with words of
encouragement, prayers, love, and good energy, I want to thank you with
everything inside me. I would go through
malaria ten more times if it means I get to keep all you lovelies. This being my first big sickness here, I
craved home (not just my home here) many times.
That junk does weird emotional stuff to you too! Thank you for letting me know you’re with me
no matter what and I could feel every ounce of love you poured and I KNOW it's what brought a speedy recovery!
OK, I know this post is dreadfully long, so I’ll cut it here
and promise that my next sickness won’t warrant a novella. Love you all to bits and bits.
Love from Sandema,
Tippy
