The Time I Got Malaria in Peru (y no, no fui a la selva!!!)

It all began when I woke up very late in the night, the morning of May 16 in a feverish state of delirium. It had been so long since I’d even had a fever I didn’t think to take my temperature (I robbed my PC med kit before I left Africa) until a couple of hours of sweating and kicking. Sure enough, fever was going strong.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt fine enough to just let it go. It must have been something I ate, I thought. Two days later I was having a Spanish class when I started shivering uncontrollably. I taxied home to my bed and went into another feverish episode.

That was when I started thinking something was wrong but I was still too naïve and stubborn to think a doctor should be involved. I bought some antibiotics at the Pharmacy and stupidly tried self-medicating.

When two days later, I had another episode, the next morning I finally went to the Doctor. He took me to the clinic, and they tested me. “It’s not malaria,” said the doc. “But you do have an infection in your blood. It’s Salmonella.” I went home with Ciproflaxin and some Paracetamol wondering what I ate that could have given me Salmonella. I’m pretty liberal about eating street food so I wasn’t that surprised, though the symptoms didn’t seem to match up. I wasn’t vomiting and I wasn’t having diarrhea.

Like clockwork, the following evening I got the chills. Shivering uncontrollably my Parisian neighbor, whom I’d only just met took me to the clinic in a taxi. “Ca va?” he asked every so often, clearly worried this girl he barely knew might keel over beside him. “P-p-p-pas trop,” I replied in between chattering teeth.

Once at the clinic, it was a whirlwind of bed covers, IV’s, blood samples, nurses taking my blood pressure while my heart was literally at a rate of 135 beats per minute. Hours later, when I finally calmed down from my episode, the nurse walked me into the room where I would spend the next six nights. Shortly after the doctor came in to declare that I did indeed have Malaria. Apparently they didn’t notice until they examined my blood taken during a full blown episode.

The following days were a blur of nurses and doctors barging in to change my IV bag, take my blood, move the needle in my arm, check my blood pressure, feed me, and quiz me about the places I’d visited in the past year. It was regular Spanish practice at least; now I have decent hospital vocabulary, at least for a patient: will you raise the bed please? My head hurts. Can I have a sleeping pill? When can I leave? Etc.

I regularly had to declare the places I’d been and insist that I hadn’t been to the Peruvian jungle, generally speaking the only place in Peru where Malaria is prevalent. At one point I even heard one nurse say to another, “Ella dice que no fui a la selva.” As If I wouldn’t know if I’d been there or not.

I was in an almost perpetual state of mild fever, that caused pretty uncomfortable headaches, with the occasional more severe episode of teeth-chattering chills and horrible body aches. My blood pressure was unstable and I was intravenously kept hydrated, given anti-fever stuff and pain meds.

The food was boring: apple maté, toast and soup with a slight variation for lunch, plain chicken. I dreamed of pizzas, meatball subs, and Carolina bbq. It was lonely and miserable being so far from home, friends and family. I watched approximately 80 hours of Friends, Two and a Half Men, Dawson’s Creek, 90210, Parenthood, House, Law and Order, Mercy, Grey’s Anatomy, Desperate Housewives, Smallville, The Office, Family Guy, 16 and Pregnant, CNN, Jersey Shore, Teen Cribs, Project Runway, that show where a family gets a new home, American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, Lost, movies, etc. It was enough TV to last a lifetime.

Finally my anti-malaria meds started working. On the fifth day at the hospital, my red blood cell count was climbing and my fever was so mild I could barely feel it fuzzing up my head. The doctor discharged me on the 6th day and I greeted the sunshine as if crawling out of a cave after a year. I felt a little woozy leaving my room but I kept my mouth shut so as not to endanger my hopes for escape.

Today I feel pretty good, though I lose energy fast; apparently I’m anemic. I’ve gotten some fresh juice and a couple of good meals in me which feels great. I also spent a fortune on iron pills, powdered milk, and other vitamin rich crap. The doctor says in two months I’ll be back to normal but I’m determined to recover much quicker than that. I’m taking a long sabbatical from TV even though that means I won’t find out who gets shot on Grey’s Anatomy.

Many thanks to everyone who responded to my cries for attention on Facebook. Virtual visits aren’t that bad a substitute for the real thing. In the meantime, I promise never to get malaria again.

One positive note about this situation: I never had to do one of those bloody, prick your own finger, Malaria slides and send it in a bush taxi to Conakry. I guess those months of crazy Mefloquine dreams were worth it after all.

It’s pretty unbelievable to think I have now had intimate experience with this disease that plagues the third world killing millions of people every year. I’m lucky to be privileged. The odd thing is they tested me before I left Africa and in Peru, I never went to a single region with variable or high risk for Malaria. Where and when that little bugger of a mosquito got me remains a mystery.

Much love from Peru,

Em

P.S. I still collect post cards. My address here is:

Calle Q’era norte 253
Pasaje Hurtado-Alvarez, B-1
Cusco, Peru

Elections Coming in Guinea

Like a weight on my shoulders, Guinea, which has been nicknamed the ‘forgotten country,’ has taken the opposite role in my life, as the ‘unforgettable country.’ Even less than a year ago, I was an eager member of G-18, gearing up for a two year service, studying forgotten math techniques and technical French vocabulary with Monsieur Diallo to prepare for two years teaching high school math in Yende Milimou.

It is hard to go back to the place I was in last November, in Tubaniso, Mali, heart-broken, destructive, and grieving. Maybe my quick decision to come to Peru was an attempt to run as far away from the source of my troubles as possible. I couldn’t face a transfer, that would have been similar but not the same. I couldn’t face home which I’d only just left. So I came to Peru and I found a life here. I learned Spanish. I learned how to survive in a new foreign culture. I got my life together, made new decisions and today I am happy and healthy.

So why can’t I put Guinea behind me? With exciting news of a nation on the verge of their first set of democratic elections and Peace Corps making plans to re-instate the Guinea program, calling in Peace Corps Response Volunteers and Re-instatements from COSers like me, suddenly my stomach seems all twisted upside down and around. The wound re-opens and the old emotions just spill out. I can feel the call of Africa as if it's a love of my life.

So what does a person do? What do you do when the thing that broke your heart invites you back into its life?

Please remember to help Guinea by following these June 27^th elections and praying for this unforgettable place at the edge of the world.