I Survived Malaria and All I Got Was This Stinking T-Shirt

Prior to my departure from Canada, I literally spent thousands of dollars on vaccinations and medications to prevent me from falling ill while in Malawi. I was also fortunate enough to obtain over $600 worth of anti-malarial drugs… unheard of in Africa. I never dreamed that at some point during my trip, I would be using the word ‘Malaria’ in the title of one of my blog entries. But here I am, off work for the week and lying comfortably in my bed, about to describe my personal experience of surviving an illness which kills one million people worldwide each year. (Warning: Yup, it’s graphic.)

Early Tuesday morning, around 1 am, I woke up suddenly. Something didn’t feel right. You know when you are aware you are having strange dreams, and the pain in your stomach, head, etc. seems wound up in those dreams? I remember fighting waking up for hours but suddenly it hit me that I should get up and see what was wrong. My stomach felt like it was going to explode. I managed to walk to the bathroom down the hall before the diarrhea struck. “Alright”, I thought. “Done”. While it hasn’t happened too much, diarrhea hasn’t been a stranger to me in Malawi, either. Sometimes that odd piece of fruit, ice in a drink, etc, is enough to push one’s stomach over the edge. While comforting myself with these thoughts that I would now feel better, I suddenly turned around to the toilet again and threw up. A lot. This time the words going through my head were a bit more R-rated. After feeling a bit better I stumbled back to my bed to sleep, only to wake up and vomit twice more before dawn. These times, the attacks were so sudden and so intense I didn’t even make it to the bathroom. Luckily I had a plastic bag on hand in my bedroom. Not pretty, I know.

The next morning I lay in my bed, shivering but sweating at the same time, praying someone would knock on my door to say good morning. I had a headache now as well, along with joint pain in my upper body and pain in my eyes when I closed them. Alice finally knocked to see how I was, because she had not seen me up and about getting ready for work like usual. Through tears I told her my symptoms and that I was up all night vomiting, a lot of it just bile because I now had an empty stomach. She assured me I would be okay, but that it sounded as though I had Malaria… “It should be Malaria”, as they say here. She took me to a clinic right away where I was weighed and had my blood pressure and temperature taken. My temperature was only slightly above normal so I became skeptical that I did in fact have Malaria. I was sent to do the blood work, where they wanted to check for malaria and also check my white blood cell count. Instead of a needle in the arm like I am used to, the lab technician just opened a little packet with a pin in it, and proceeded to stab the tip of my index finger to produce blood and wipe it on the microscope slide. Ow.

A few minutes later I was sent back to the doctor’s room, where he told me I did have Malaria. A wave of relief swept over me. Through studying Malaria a lot in university, I knew the next few hours would be hell, but at least the nurses would know how to treat it, and I would feel better soon. He told me that because my type of Malaria is gastric, and due to the vomiting and diarrhea, I was severely dehydrated. I could have told him this, my mouth felt like the Sahara all morning, but I was scared to drink for fear of vomiting again. The nurse took me to a room and told me I would have to be on an IV drip for 3-4 hours. The drip would also contain Quinine, a medicine to kill all the Malaria parasites in my body. At this point I felt okay, and I was happy to be on the drip and not feel dehydrated any longer. I was also given two giant needles; one to stop the vomiting and the other a pain killer. The Quinine made me very sleepy, so I was only slightly aware of the people coming and going from my room, Alice’s husband, the country director from my organization who I was supposed to meet with for lunch that day, another colleague, etc. Alice stayed with me the entire time, texting her friends and family to pray for me, which was really nice.

A couple hours into the drip, I had to go to the bathroom. So Alice unhooked the IV bag from the stand and carried it to the bathroom to hold for me. As soon as I got to the bathroom though, I knew something was very wrong. My head suddenly felt like it could float away, and before I knew it I was on all fours over the toilet, puking once again. Quinine affects your ears and produces almost a ringing noise, so I only faintly heard Alice yelling for the nurse. After that episode I headed back to my bed, but only a few minutes later I felt the stomach pain again that can only mean one thing. We raced back down the hallway to the bathroom, and it was during this second bathroom trip that I experienced what can only be classified as a low-point in my life: sitting on the toilet experiencing diarrhea, and vomiting on the floor in front of me at the same time, in front of a group of strangers. It doesn’t get much worse than that. I’ve never felt so sick in my entire life, as I did in that moment. To add to the situation, I remember Alice shouting, “Jacqueline! Your hand!”, and realizing that throughout all this chaos, I had forgotten to hold my hand with the IV in it horizontal at all times. To my horror I looked down and half the IV tube had my blood inside it, not a pleasant sight. At this point I started to cry; even though I had a room full of people taking care of me, I felt really scared. In Africa, Malaria is so common that everyone in that room had probably experienced it at least 2 or 3 times. So throughout my crying and fear, it felt as though the doctor and nurses were almost chuckling at me like I was some sort of Malaria amateur, which I really didn’t like.

Back in my room, the pain in my stomach became so great that I was practically begging for more pain killers. They told me that they had only given me the first shot three hours before, so they had to wait a bit longer before giving me another. I distinctly remember saying a few choice words and telling them that I don’t care if I overdose on pain meds. (Lord help the doctor who has to put up with me through childbirth one day.)

A couple hours later, after an extremely drugged-up nap (Yes, I won the battle for more painkillers), I woke up and felt really hungry. Alice’s husband has brought us some lunch so I managed a few fries and a few bites of chicken. Thirty minutes later I sat up to leave the hospital and, you guessed it, more vomiting. At this point I just wanted to die. My throat was raw from all the stomach acid that accompanies vomit, and I saw no end to this ‘eat, drink, throw up’ routine that was fast becoming my life. After more vomiting inside the hospital (my apologies to the caretaker), outside the hospital (my apologies to the gardener) and once back home, I made it to my bed where I slept for what felt like forever. A few hours later, Alice woke me up with some pieces of bread, which I actually managed not to throw up. Fiiiiiiiinally… I was on the mend. Alice checked on me several times throughout the night and kept reminding me to drink lots. The next morning I took my first of 3 malaria treatment pills, and some more painkillers. Hard to swallow, literally, but I began to believe that I might actually be back to my old self soon. A couple days later I am still feeling tired, weak, and a bit headachey, but that’s nothing a few days bed rest won’t fix, said the nurse.

Since starting bed rest, I have had many visitors: Alice and Nelson’s pastor (who brought me chocolate… good man), some neighbours, Alice’s sister, 2 of Alice’s co-workers, and more. Malawians sure know how to make a girl feel very well taken care of and loved.

I am disappointed that I am missing one whole week of work, and that means two precious sessions with the Violence Against Girls groups. I had such a great lesson planned, and I am disappointed at missing the opportunity to share it with the girls. I can only pray that the schools will still accommodate the program next week, despite starting exams. I do, however, think it is best that I rest up this week, so I feel completely 100% better for my remaining 3 weeks in Malawi.

This whole ordeal has caused me to question many things. Why was receiving adequate care so simple for me? Why is money ever a barrier for receiving care? Why should I live to tell this tale, when a child in this very country is sure to have died even today of the same illness? It all seems very unequal, very unbalanced, and very unfair. It is a sad fact that in our world, money = life. Money is the difference between surviving an illness like Malaria, like I was fortunate to have, and simply becoming another statistic. I am thankful to come from a country like Canada and have the $90 it cost for me to receive care, IV treatment, and medicines. Even if I didn’t, my parents would have been able to wire the money, etc… there is always a way and a mean. In Malawi, however, there is frequently only a will to live, and very often this will is not enough.

Love to all,
Jacqueline