I survived my first bout with tropical disease this past weekend. It was trial by toilet, made all that much worse by poor sanitation, no running water and a lack of electricity -- I have truly earned my stay here in Ghana. What follows is the sad misadventure of the last two days. It is not for the faint of heart, or for anyone uninterested in the intimate workings of my bodily functions. Continue at your own peril.
I was on my way back from Hohoe on Saturday (a story in itself) when I got that familiar itch in the back of my throat that typically precludes the onset of a cold. By the end of the four hour trotro ride home it was in full swing, and I started my usual anti-cold routine, i.e. drinking lots of fluids and sleeping.
Unfortunately I arrived home to no power. Great. It at least forced me to bed early, but without power I had no fan and spent the night suffocatingly hot. It wasn't until the next day, as well, that I realized people had shut the window panes in my bedroom, effectively turning it into a sauna. Argh. When I woke up on Sunday morning I was intensely miserable, more so because I had to do all my laundry by handwashing for Monday.
In order to offset the sore throat I was drinking water baggies like they were going out of style, and I was really plowing through them to the utter shock and amazement of my homestay family. They usually speak Twi among themselves, but I repeatedly heard 'Kevin' and 'nsuo' (Twi for water) in amazed tones throughout the morning. I thought my regiment had served me well, because by evening I was feeling better, though (and here comes the intimacy forewarned), I had been peeing like a racehorse all day and going to sleep was no exception.
I must have woken up to nature's call 3 or 4 times that night, each time feeling that much better. I was pretty pleased with myself because it usually takes a few days for me to kill a cold. I scoffed, prematurely, at tropical disease, and tropical disease, as they say, scoffed right back.
I woke up at 5am, not for the mosque and not for nature, but to the intense mutiny of my stomach. Now in North America we have colds and we have stomach viruses (viri?), but this was some unholy bastard hybrid. I tried all sorts of jedi mindtricks to will myself better, and for a time it worked, but right as I was rolling out for work at 7:45 my turncoat intestinal tract turned the tables on me. I thought I had it under control by 8:15ish, and set out again.
I made it to the trotro stop, not feeling great but I would survive. My trotro pulled up, the door opened, and then everything happened at once.
Right as I stepped up to the trotro and put my first foot in, my stomach lept up in dissent, growling its disapproval and sending me back to the street. At the very same moment I heard my name being called, and I turned my head to see Melody racing down the street towards me, finger wagging in severe disapproval.
Melody: You are not going to work, Kevin.
Me: Ughhhfadsfjdsfjsd;
Apparently neighborhood watch had seen me hobbling to the trotros and warned the house against my going anywhere. I guess its nice to be looked out for, the incredible speed of this particular network is freakishly big brother. At any rate I was down and out for the day, and Melody walked me home.
I took my hardcore diarrhea meds that, while hardcore, also have the side effect of intense misery. I was averse to any sunlight, of which Africa plenty, and food or drink, which I badly needed, and incredible drowsiness combined with insomnia. Did I mention that the power had gone out again? More mid-day heat with no fands. Awesome. But at least I was retaining was little fluids I had left, right? Melody, my angelic nurse, brought me some oranges, and after I squeezed the heck out of them and added some water, I had orange juice for the first time in a few weeks. Woot.
So all day Monday I basically laid up on the couch, moving as little as possible and willing the power to come back on. It did, finally, around 4pm, and I could finally cool off, and also put on a movie. I tell it honestly: I could not deny myself the rugged irony of watching A River Runs Through It. Guffaw... guffaw... But it really was a good movie, fly-fishing always makes me happy, and by the end of it I was actually feeling better.
I took my second dose of meds with dinner, was finally able to sleep a bit, and this morning I return to you a new man. Fitter, happier, more productive, etc etc... I've paid my dues and god willing I will never suffer anything else like that the rest of my trip. I'm talking to you, malaria.
P.S. - Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes. I appreciate everyone's love. It's always sad to see another Kevin Day come and go, but there will always be another one next year. I hope you all managed to celebrate with the joy and happiness befitting such a spectacular day. I know I did.
No comments:
Post a Comment