As promised, I have not left my apartment in days -- since Friday afternoon, when I was diagnosed with malaria and typhoid, to be exact. Well, I went downstairs to the tea shop to buy six eggs for the pumpkin bread I made yesterday (restaurant food here is horrible. of course I cooked a little), but other than that, I've been resting dutifully and taking my medicine on time. Nevermind that to get rid of the typhoid I'll need to take cipro for two weeks, restricting my social calender to teetotaling for Thanksgiving and the 1st Annual Surf Liberia Contest 2009, but oh well.
After watching back-to-back episodes of 'Welcome to the NHK' and 'The Wire,' I do feel my energy increasing. The fact that Nate and I have traded kitchen duty whenever we have the energy has helped. One night he made roast chickens with potatoes and carrots (one of which we devoured in less than 15 minutes) and yesterday I made pumpkin bread, lentil soup and spaghetti aglio con olio with shrimp, which was way tasty. When one of us is doing this, the other is usually sleeping in bed, but I think tonight we might just have the energy to go out to dinner together.
I think we've earned it.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Medical update
Did I mention yesterday that I was planning to go to Robertsport? That didn't happen. Instead, I slept early, slept late, and woke up to distance coordinate by mobile phone the Women's Sewing Coop meeting, attended this week by a project officer who may be interested in giving us seed money funding to scale up marketing and distribution. Now that we've sold bags to friends and family, we need new markets!
Anyway, coordinating that was successful in that it encouraged the Coop to think on their feet and band together without me, but not so successful in that they weren't prepared to answer the list of questions the officer had prepared for me -- questions focusing on the long-term scalability of the project, capacity building, online marketing and distribution. Bendu called me after, called the meeting "terrifying" and made up a bunch of answers to avoid disappointing the man, including telling him that we are 25 (we are 12) and that we want sewing machines and a building (we don't -- our project is successful and scalable because any woman can instantly join and work from wherever she normally spends her time). Gulp.
I'm trying not to be disappointed that I couldn't make it. I have a follow-up meeting with the officer, who was very sympathetic to my malaria-typhoid coinfection, next week. I'm reminding myself that showing up for the project and all the work we've put into it is what's important, not the outcome of that work (like getting seed money to make it sustainable and keep it moving forward), just like the Baghvad Gita says. It's not that easy, but I'm supposed to be resting in bed.
Here's the medical update: we're both on imported German ciprofloaxin for our typhoid, which other than achiness and utter exhaustion isn't too painful. I'm on Coartem, an artesenate dual treatment which Nate had to scour nine pharmacies to find. I'm also taking Panadol for general achiness, and reading a lot. For those of you who are worried we'll exhaust ourselves with work and general running around, I promise we'll stay in this room all weekend.
Anyway, coordinating that was successful in that it encouraged the Coop to think on their feet and band together without me, but not so successful in that they weren't prepared to answer the list of questions the officer had prepared for me -- questions focusing on the long-term scalability of the project, capacity building, online marketing and distribution. Bendu called me after, called the meeting "terrifying" and made up a bunch of answers to avoid disappointing the man, including telling him that we are 25 (we are 12) and that we want sewing machines and a building (we don't -- our project is successful and scalable because any woman can instantly join and work from wherever she normally spends her time). Gulp.
I'm trying not to be disappointed that I couldn't make it. I have a follow-up meeting with the officer, who was very sympathetic to my malaria-typhoid coinfection, next week. I'm reminding myself that showing up for the project and all the work we've put into it is what's important, not the outcome of that work (like getting seed money to make it sustainable and keep it moving forward), just like the Baghvad Gita says. It's not that easy, but I'm supposed to be resting in bed.
Here's the medical update: we're both on imported German ciprofloaxin for our typhoid, which other than achiness and utter exhaustion isn't too painful. I'm on Coartem, an artesenate dual treatment which Nate had to scour nine pharmacies to find. I'm also taking Panadol for general achiness, and reading a lot. For those of you who are worried we'll exhaust ourselves with work and general running around, I promise we'll stay in this room all weekend.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Malaria! Typhoid!
So, a few hours ago we called City Laboratories (Motto: "Insist on knowing your medical problems.") for our malaria and typhoid test results -- the ones I almost didn't have done because I didn't like the look of the big sharp needle. The woman on the phone asked me twice if I wanted results over the phone and then said that I have a co-infection of typhoid and malaria, but that Nate just has typhoid. I made her repeat it, then repeated it and had her confirm it. After a moment or two of disbelief (typhoid? really? I feel okay, I'm just sleeping a lot), we hopped in the car to pick up the results and grab our meds.
Turns out I have "few" malaria again -- the "malaria" option circled under hematology with "few" scribbled beside it. Then, under "WIDAL TEST," which is for typhoid, the health worker wrote for both Nate and I, "Strongly Reactive." It's kind of exciting to be strongly reactive, until I remind myself it's for typhoid.
My Facebook updates since I broke the news (I called my parents and sister first: we have a family disclosure policy on illnesses) warn of dire experimental cocktails and mistreatments. I'm taking the standard Cipro (made by a pharmacy in Germany, no generics for me thank you) for the typhoid and Coartam (made by Novartis, thank you also) for the "few" malaria. No artesenate and amodiaquine, thank you -- my friend just finished that treatment only to have heart palpitations and have to get an ECG in a Liberian hospital. No, I'm putting my very expensive MPH to work and we're doing things by the book, thank you Hopkins.
You may notice that I sound like I'm feeling fine. As I tried to assure my father over a rather bad connection as we drove through the din of Newport Street and Monrovia's biggest mosque, I am feeling fine. I'm tired and sleep a lot, but dry season means wonderfully dry heat, so that's supposed to happen a little. We're off to Robertsport tomorrow for a Women's Sewing Coop meeting and "few" surfing. I swear I'll take it easy, but the ocean is good for the soul.
Turns out I have "few" malaria again -- the "malaria" option circled under hematology with "few" scribbled beside it. Then, under "WIDAL TEST," which is for typhoid, the health worker wrote for both Nate and I, "Strongly Reactive." It's kind of exciting to be strongly reactive, until I remind myself it's for typhoid.
My Facebook updates since I broke the news (I called my parents and sister first: we have a family disclosure policy on illnesses) warn of dire experimental cocktails and mistreatments. I'm taking the standard Cipro (made by a pharmacy in Germany, no generics for me thank you) for the typhoid and Coartam (made by Novartis, thank you also) for the "few" malaria. No artesenate and amodiaquine, thank you -- my friend just finished that treatment only to have heart palpitations and have to get an ECG in a Liberian hospital. No, I'm putting my very expensive MPH to work and we're doing things by the book, thank you Hopkins.
You may notice that I sound like I'm feeling fine. As I tried to assure my father over a rather bad connection as we drove through the din of Newport Street and Monrovia's biggest mosque, I am feeling fine. I'm tired and sleep a lot, but dry season means wonderfully dry heat, so that's supposed to happen a little. We're off to Robertsport tomorrow for a Women's Sewing Coop meeting and "few" surfing. I swear I'll take it easy, but the ocean is good for the soul.
Temporary freak-out for no good reason
We both went to get typhoid and malaria tests this morning at City Laboratories. I've been there before, the laboratory is basic (no running water, photocopied health announcements reminding women to have "only one sexual parteners" with the final "s" blacked out) but acceptable. I've kept a close watch on clinical practices during our many visits, and have been please to see good sharps disposal, decent equipment, and most importantly, all new needles and sticks taken out of their plastic wrappers in front of clients. They also have an impressive list of diagnostics on offer, including fertility testing for both women and men, which I thought was interesting.
Anyway, Nate and I enter the lab, pass a weak-looking Asian youngster looking gratefully at the functional air-conditioning, and both sit on the carpet-lined bench against the wall. The confident and rather dapper technician who usually pricks my finger wasn't there, but a small woman with a large facial mole was. She grabbed a glove and two syringes. I examined her face for signs of confidence, becoming uneasy at the idea of a) an African clinic b) the lack of a familiar face and c) the extremely large needle attached to the syringe and figured hey, I probably don't have typhoid. I mean, really -- would I be sitting there, sweating lightly, able to have this conversation in my head, if I had typhoid? Please.
The issues started when Nate volunteered me to go first, all blase and not yet aware of my increasing alarm. The health worker firmly tied the rubber glove just above my elbow and unwrapped what was now looking to be a monster needle. I panicked.
"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," I said to Nate, looking stern. I leaned in to whisper, desperately, "She looks incompetent." And then, strangely, "We should've discussed this." And then, full of panic, "Stop!"
So Nate went first while I assured him, sweating a bit more now, that I was quite sure I don't have tyhpoid or malaria and I certainly don't need any tests. He looked at me, bemused, and the health worker didn't look at me, but smiled, and I quieted down. And let her jab me.
We'll call them for results in another hour, but for now are walking down to the UNICEF canteen for jollof rice and fried chicken with pepper sauce. I feel better.
Anyway, Nate and I enter the lab, pass a weak-looking Asian youngster looking gratefully at the functional air-conditioning, and both sit on the carpet-lined bench against the wall. The confident and rather dapper technician who usually pricks my finger wasn't there, but a small woman with a large facial mole was. She grabbed a glove and two syringes. I examined her face for signs of confidence, becoming uneasy at the idea of a) an African clinic b) the lack of a familiar face and c) the extremely large needle attached to the syringe and figured hey, I probably don't have typhoid. I mean, really -- would I be sitting there, sweating lightly, able to have this conversation in my head, if I had typhoid? Please.
The issues started when Nate volunteered me to go first, all blase and not yet aware of my increasing alarm. The health worker firmly tied the rubber glove just above my elbow and unwrapped what was now looking to be a monster needle. I panicked.
"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," I said to Nate, looking stern. I leaned in to whisper, desperately, "She looks incompetent." And then, strangely, "We should've discussed this." And then, full of panic, "Stop!"
So Nate went first while I assured him, sweating a bit more now, that I was quite sure I don't have tyhpoid or malaria and I certainly don't need any tests. He looked at me, bemused, and the health worker didn't look at me, but smiled, and I quieted down. And let her jab me.
We'll call them for results in another hour, but for now are walking down to the UNICEF canteen for jollof rice and fried chicken with pepper sauce. I feel better.
Breaking news: A gecko
There is a gecko -- a real one -- in our cupboard. This is very exciting. First of all, by 'real', I mean the translucent kind with beady black eyes that stare and dart and eat mosquitoes (very important -- see previous post about household malaria incidence). Not the skinny, scabby black ones that seem to hate being trapped inside. Or the red-headed pushup lizards that scamper like leaves when I walk to the car, there are so many of them.
I was so happy to see it and tried not to scare it too much as I reached for the tea. I even opened a window for good measure, should it want to escape. I don't think it will: our kitchen is too full of fruit flies that seem to spontaneously generate around the pineapple to want to go far.
I was so happy to see it and tried not to scare it too much as I reached for the tea. I even opened a window for good measure, should it want to escape. I don't think it will: our kitchen is too full of fruit flies that seem to spontaneously generate around the pineapple to want to go far.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
