Malaria

So. I've been really sick since arriving back at site. I've had chronic fatigue, body aches, extreme dizziness and other flu-like symptoms. I took my temperature last night and discovered...low and behold...I was running a fever! I knew something was up but I didn't want to pre-diagnose myself...so I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer who said "Go to the doctor, TODAY." So after teaching this morning I went into Kuruman and had my first experience with a doctor's office in South Africa.

I purposefully chose to go to the black doctor (knowing I'd probably be the only white person there...hoping actually) and I'm glad I did. I walked into a tiny waiting room that was filled to capacity with people sitting, standing, crouching etc in various stages of illness. Signs were posted everywhere that said "HIV medication available here!" "Know your status!" "For 120 rand per month you can live a normal life with HIV!" etc, etc, etc. I signed in and took my seat.

Next thing I knew a white nurse came into the waiting room with paperwork. She took one look at me and put down what she was doing to come over and make sure I was okay, and to tell me I wouldn't have to wait long etc. Sick as I was I was overwhelmingly aware of the preferential treatment I was receiving. I told her I was fine, I'd signed in and would prefer to wait my turn. It didn't seem to matter - she still filed my paperwork first before other people. As I was feeling so utterly horrible I kept thinking to myself "ohhhhh for heaven's sake PLEASE don't make me fight this battle right NOW!" I decided to ask the people next to me how long they'd been waiting...turned out they'd been waiting much longer than me. I again reminded the lady that I'd wait my turn. I don't know how long it was before I was called in, but there were still people in the waiting area who had been there longer than me. I simply did not know what to do and did not have the energy to fight it, I'm ashamed to say so, but it's true.

I went back and met the doctor, a friendly man from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I told him my symptoms and mentioned at the end I'd just returned from Mozambique. "I knew it," he said. "You have malaria." Great.

He then pushed all over on my stomach and pulled at my skin...I'm not really sure what purpose that served but I didn't care too much at that point. When I sat back up he started asking questions I'd never heard from a doctor before. The first: "Would you like me to treat you? You know that will cost extra." "Yes," I said, "I would like to be treated." (???) then: "What would you like me to prescribe for you?" Me: "Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" I was dumbfounded! It sure looks like South Africa would be a narcotic addict's DREAM country! I asked him to please prescribe whatever will make me better. He then proceeded to ask me thousands of questions about America, what I was doing in South Africa, and when will I be visiting the DRC. :) He was a wonderfully kind doctor and I spent more time with him than I probably have with any doctor in the U.S. in my entire life. While the procedure was strange, his warmth and genuine concern were refreshing.

He then walked with me to their pharmacy and prescribed 6 different medications. As I was still feeling terrible I honestly barely remember a thing he said. The pharmacist grabbed the medications off the shelf and scribbled their names and dosages on them in sloppy Afrikaans (which I didn't realize until later). They then ordered a series of blood tests to determine what type of Malaria I had (pretty much trying to see if it's cerebral..I think).

I called the Peace Corps and filled them in. They're a bit concerned and are going to call me tomorrow. If I'm not feeling better they're going to make me come to Pretoria so they can run more specific tests.

So, that's my update as it stands. Malaria. Good grief.

Also, the computer classes have started again. I'm teaching a beginning class with out of school youth - it was the MOST fun I've had in months! I am going to LOVE this semester, I can tell.