After feeling like I had the bubonic plague last week, we were all hoping it was just some quick and easy food poisoning. After things started to look up Thursday morning, they rapidly went downhill. After barely surviving the night on Wednesday I gulped Gatorade hoping to replace all 167% of electrolytes I had lost. I managed to stand up on Thursday for more than 3 minutes, so I began to have hope. I was moving slow but at this point slow was better than being horizontal.
I planned on going back to my clinic on Friday to do some more research and to make up for the lost day on Wednesday but when 3am on Friday arrived, I yet again, hung out with my very dear friend; the bathroom. At this point I was crawling from my bedroom to the bathroom and was in tears so I begged Anna to bring me to the hospital just to get a malaria test. White as a ghost I managed to crawl in the back of Simbo’s car so he could bring me to the clinic where they bring their baby boy. He dropped Anna and I off in the parking lot and went on his way but at this point I panicked thinking I was going to have to play charades in order to explain my symptoms. Thankfully, they spoke English.
Long story short: the doctor took one look at me and told me he was admitting me into the emergency room and keeping me for observation. At this point, there were about 3 nurses entering the room and escorting me into the back rooms. I told Anna I was going to be at the hospital for a couple of hours and to go home but she insisted stayed with the helpless mzungu. Whatta girl.
I eventually entered into my lavishing room that was going to be home for the next 6 hours. Let me describe this room for you: imagine a jail cell (yes, even the windows had bars on them), 2 beds without sheets and pillows, cement walls, a sink without soap, and the only source of light was the natural light beaming through the caged windows. After I got over this situation, I was told to take off my shoes and lay in bed. Seriously? I was atleast hoping for a cool hospital gown. I met my new best friend (yes, someTHING other than the toilet) Mary. One of the greatest nurses around, I’m most definitely writing a letter to this hospital and nominating her for employee of the month. She told me to get comfortable because it was going to be a long day. So I sat on the bed and smiled; however this was not suitable for Mary. She MADE me lay down and told me, “SLEEP.” Keep in mind it was 9:15am and I had been sick for the last 6 hours so sleeping was not in the agenda.
The next 6 hours consisted of 6 IVs of antibiotics and salt solutions, 2 injections to stop me from being sick, endless games and stories. At one point Mary decided I looked bored and began telling me a story. Because I didn’t understand a lot of her Swahili she proceeded to tell me I was lazy for not learning her language. Really, I don’t think this is the time for a language lesson. Anna, having a background in microbiology, kept tabs on the sterile needles, EVERY solution that was entering my body, asking questions like my mother would and even requested each and every information leaflet on the antibiotics. I’m sure they were ready for us to leave already.
By 1pm, the clinic had literally shut down. Yes, Anna and I were the only patients in the clinic while all of the doctors and nurses went for lunch, expect for my girl Mary. She sacrificed her own appetite to take care of the poor mzungu with the low blood pressure and failing body. At one point I even saw my doctor outside mingling with the locals on his lunch break as I was on my deathbed.
By 4pm the insanity was beginning to hit. Anna was threatening me that she was going to leave me hooked up to the IVs and let me walk home. I was yelling at Mary to make the drip go faster, and the minute she walked out of the room I would speed up the process myself. At one point I began to have an allergic reaction to an antibiotic so Anna ran around the clinic trying to locate Mary and tell her something wasn’t right. Thinking she was crazy and overreacting, the nurses came in and inspected my arm and the smiles on their faces immediately disappeared. One IV removed, 5 more to finish. The boredom got so bad we started to putting on the rubber gloves, using the stethoscope and taking each other’s blood pressure. I also decided I wanted to stretch my legs and do laps around the clinic so yes, there I was cruising the hallway with my IV attached on its moveable stand. One of the greatest experiences as a patient.
Eventually, the IVs ran out and it was time for my critique. At this point even if I felt as if my organs were about to fail, I was going to get out of this 2x4 room. The doctor gave me the clear and told me to return the following day to get the IV out of my arm and to evaluate my progress. I was instructed to basically eat nothing but bread and drink only water for the next week. Please, don’t spoil me.
I returned back to the hostel, drugged up, dragging my feet and with an IV needle sticking out of my hand. For all of those people who thought Lena exaggerates when she doesn’t feel well, check out that IV in the hand. Everyone was getting ready for a BBQ we had that night, music was playing and everyone had started celebrating. Nope, there I was in the corner being the sober photographer. IV: 1, Lena: 0.
The next morning Anna and I ventured back to see the doctor and of course, Mary. In the waiting room Mary immediately came over to me to see how I was doing. You know you have been in Africa too long when you are recognized not only in town, but at a hospital. I met with the doctor, he said I looked like a human again (thank you?) and wanted to make sure I was taking my medicine correctly…pills? What? This is when panic #2 started. Calls were made, words were spoken and again, 4 nurses came into the room. Apparently there was a “miscommunication” between the pharmacists, doctor and nurses and I left without something that maybe could keep me alive. In the end, I got my needle out, got my four prescriptions and a bill for only $30.00. Beat that Blue Cross Blue Shield.
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