Thursday, November 17, 2011

Disease

Something that’s a given by serving in West Africa is illness. Here we are exposed to diseases I have only read about in adventure novels and histories: Yellow fever, giardia, malaria, tuberculosis, scurvy (the one thing that I refuse to succumb to in my landlocked state in f-ing Africa is scurvy), amoebas, etc. Thus far only one person in my stage has had malaria. Fun fact: even when taking the malaria medication properly, it’s only about 85% effective. At least it’s still easily treatable, although because it’s so over diagnosed in West Africa the parasite itself is becoming immune to the treatment. Not to belabor the point or scare anybody back home, but two people in my stage have been med-sep’d due to sickness that couldn’t be treated in Togo. I’ve been pretty lucky thus far with only a couple of colds and the basic gastrointestinal complaints of a yovo becoming “habitué” (translated colloquially as “getting used to”) to living in a developing country. However, I believe my luck has finally run out.
Yesterday I spent my time curling up in a ball on the couch at the work station in Dapaong, groaning, and collapsing onto my side while clutching a pillow to my stomach (“Maggie’s hitting the deck again!”). The theatrics were making me feel better, I think. To be blunt, I could actually feel my intestines vibrating along with intense cramping, nausea, and my personal favorite symptom: sulfur burps, which are exactly what they sound like.
“Do you smell that?”
Me: “What? I don’t know. Whatever. I think it’s from outside.”
“It smells like burning. Did you light a match?”
Me: “I think someone’s cooking outside. IT MUST BE A BUSH FIRE.”
Though I’m innately a private person, I’m mostly thankful for the transparency I share with other Volunteers here; I feel like I can get an honest answer about anything I ask about my new home: culture, language, emotional ups and downs… sometimes when it comes to physical issues, I still blanche.
“Do you feel nauseated after you eat?”
Me: “Sure.”
“Do you ever get this (imitates rumbling sound – it’s kind of like a double bass-pedal) in your stomach?”
Me: “Yes.”
“Lose your appetite?”
Me: “Indeed!”
“Have you been passing cysts?”
Me: “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Anyway, because I am, I’ll have you know, a Health Professional, I’m pretty sure I have giardia. I think I’d be hard pressed to find a volunteer in Togo who hasn’t contracted it once or twice, no matter how many precautions we take. According to our S.H.I.T. (Staying Healthy In Togo) book, one can catch giardia by untreated water or unclean food. I’m pretty good with filtering my water here, and ice is impossible to find so I haven’t had to worry about tainted drinks. Due to my love of street food and the questionable hygiene practices of those who prepare the food in Togo, I brought it on myself by being lazy and not wanting to cook. The usual procedure for getting treatment here is to complete a M.I.F. kit, which is a stool sample you send down to the nurses in Lome. They do some tests on it down there, hopefully figure out what it is and send you the appropriate treatment. Of course, because I’m in the furthest region from Lome this is a process that can take several weeks seeing as it’s via E.M.S., a mail service that Peace Corps contracts out via the post. I know people in my stage who have already done three or four of these bad boys, and I’m not looking forward to my first experience.
Although I’m sure it would lead to another great conversation with a volunteer on the best way to package and send a stool sample in Togo.

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