Spoiler Alert: This is about my trip to the hospital. But don't worry, I clearly lived to tell the tale!
So, this being a "developing" country it was only a matter of time before certain...tummy issues came up. In Ghana, its tactfully yet descriptively referred to as "running stomach", though you all might be more familiar with the medical term: diarrhea. Yes. I'm blogging about poop. Never thought I'd see the day, but I feel like it - or what it lead to at least, is an important part of my experience and so I will shed my modesty and openly admit that I had running stomach last week. At first, not a big deal, I figured it would go away. It didn't, still no big deal though, it wasn't debilitating or anything and it wasn't uncontrollable so I decided to go to the hospital on Monday, since one of my roommates was going anyway for an infected toenail. Which was a good plan. Because Sunday night things took a turn for the worst. Frequency skyrocketed, and I couldn't eat anything without it immediately coming out the other end. Including water. Including two motrin which somehow triggered an attack (is that even possible?). I went to bed with chills and was up at all hours, developed a fever and a pounding headache and started to feel pretty much like I wanted to curl up and cry until it all went away. Unfortunately, this was not an option because I was much to dehydrated to produce tears. Instead, we stuck to the hospital plan and my roommates packed me up sat me in the waiting room and were completely awesome in getting my paper work done and my drugs bought. I was seen reasonably quickly and was immediately hooked up to an IV (yes, it was a new needle). Pretty much not the best experience of my life. I hate needles as it is, and the training nurse couldn't get it in so I ended up crying and shivering and puking up really nasty bright green vomit while sitting at the front of this huge waiting room...you know, because I just don't stand out enough as it is as one of three white people in the whole place. But I'm glad I got hooked up, because as soon as the first bag was done I felt 100% better. I got a blood test and then spent the rest of the day waiting for the results, drinking oral re hydration salts (hey! I learned about those in school!) and reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (which may have helped just as much as the ORS) (also, side note, why is Azkaban not a word? Stupide muggle spellcheck). In the meantime I was also started on treatment for malaria (which I didn't have) and cholera (which I also didn't have, but there's a cholera outbreak in Accra right now so better safe than sorry!). I had a couple of minor freakouts when my re hydration IVs were finished or moved or something or whatever happens that makes your blood go back up the tube - but apparently that's "very normal". I told the nurse I didn't like blood and she told me it was ok, because "see? It's going back in". Ahhhhh.
When Hannah and Jennifer came back to check on me, it was getting late and my tests weren't done. So I had to be admitted, even though I felt totally fine and my stomach wasn't running quite so urgently as it had been before. No beds in the hospital so I was taken by ambulance to a clinic where I spent not a very pleasant night in an extremely uncomfortable bed. In the morning all was well, the diagnosis came in and I was discharged with orders to go get another blood and stool test (don't want to talk about it) and to come back Friday. Oh, and I was given more drugs because shockingly it was neither malaria nor cholera but a mere bacterial infection.
TMI? I hope not. It's all just background information for this musing. When I went to the hospital, I'll admit, I was scared. I'd had a fever that night and I'd seen group mates with malaria and it isn't pretty. A cholera outbreak is also more than a little alarming, though I was reminded that I was vaccinated against that (I think..). Obviously, it was nothing so dire, but when you're sick and already feeling like crap everything seems a billion times worse. But what a relief - just bacteria! It was all just dehydration that made me feel so bad! Hurrah! Tuesday, once I'd been home, showered, napped, and was back at the hospital getting photocopies for the almighty insurance people I started thinking about how unimpressive it is to have been hospitalized for diarrhea. Not that this is in any way a good attitude, but at least malaria or cholera would have seemed a bit more bad ass. I mean those diseases are intense - they kill people. Then I remembered my food security prof from last year - the one who looked like a middle aged Harry Potter - and how passionate he was about diarrhea because that kills too; in fact it kills a lot. It may not sound as dramatic as other illnesses but its a leading cause of death among children in the developing world. So, yes I'm glad it was only a bacterial infection; I'm glad it wasn't cholera, or malaria; I'm glad that I'm in a country and city where proper treatment is available and I can get re hydrated easily; I'm glad I have access to treatment because I have insurance and even if I didn't I can easily afford the 2 cedi drugs. To me, it was a nuisance, 24 hours of discomfort and an extra trip to the bank . And maybe kind of a funny story. To others, it can literally mean death. What the heck? It sounds so dramatic, and also a bit ridiculous because it's diarrhea - it's not that bad ass malaria or other deadly disease; or at least we don't think about it as such. And its sad because treatment is so a friggin easy. And its another one of those moments where I realize that the gap between me and them; "rich" and "poor", is so very, very wide and that as much as I try to catch a glimpse of life on the other side there's no way I will ever truly know what that's like.
So. As I said. I'm glad it was just a minor infection, and that I was easily treated. I'm happy with a side of guilt - a feeling I've come to know only too well. But I hope, as I prepare to go home, that I'm learning the difference between the guilt of having things and of the guilt of other people not having things. What I mean is, there's guilt for spending money on things I don't need that are only available to me because I'm part of an exploitative upper class (hi Marx!). Say, the guilt of buying a t-shirt made by child labour. This guilt is useful because it tells me, don't do that again! But then there's the guilt of having access to amazing medical care, when others don't have it. And that guilt tells me something different - it tells me to work harder in my life to ensure that these things are available to everyone, not just me. I'm kind of stealing this from a prep month activity, but I feel like its really sunk in and its worth sharing. I'll point out too that both these feelings of guilt are useful, in some way. Both are important. Telling the difference is important. Not easy, but important. And it's not to say I'll never feel guilty or I'll suddenly become a saint, but I'm learning how to live with guilt and to live better because of it. And not to ignore it or escape it through lame justification.
So moral of the story: Listen to guilt, it can lead you to some interesting places.
And also, wash your hands before eating!
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