I've been getting paranoid lately that I've been in Ghana for five months and haven't had any internal or external battle wounds to show for it besides a few blisters on my toes from playing football (soccer) barefoot on the beach in the scorching sun, a couple awful entire-body sunburns and a heat rash that has been flaring up since September sporadically on both forearms. In the past three months my roommate/boss Kirsty has had malaria and typhoid and a couple other not nice things. Talk about bad luck!
Toward the middle of October I got a dry cough for about a week but it didn't progress into anything. After I recovered though, I continued feeling weak and dizzy and more anxious and jumpy than my malaria prophylaxis normally makes me. I was waking up drenched in sweat every morning for a week. Kirsty was convinced I had either malaria or typhoid and thought I should get tested at the lab for both. Malaria and typhoid are detectable by flu-like symptoms. Besides muscle soreness and sweating, I don't have any of the other main flu-like symptoms - the chills, a fever or nausea. Based on my observations of Kirsty's and other volunteers' experiences with the two diseases, I was certain I didn't have either. I think I have something else going on, or maybe my body is in the process of adapting to the changing season.
Not wanting to wait five hours at a hospital to see a doctor as I've done before with a sick volunteer, and not wanting to go to a lab to get my veins probed for tests, I decided to turn to the internet for answers. I Googled my symptoms (dry cough, long-term heat rash, profuse sweating, muscle soreness, increased paranoia, nervousness and anxiety, sleep disturbances, teeth grinding) and learned I probably have a parasite. Sounds gross, but I read that experts believe 85% of North American adults have at least one form of parasite living in their body. Some doctors even argue this figure may be as high as 95 percent. I read that having a parasite can lead to all sorts of fatal diseases. In fact, the more I read the more I scared myself. Sometimes I think it's better to stay in the dark on some subjects.
The Saturday before Halloween, Kirsty went to Accra for a party at the British embassy as the guest of Susan, the Scottish owner of the Abandze Beach Resort we frequent whenever possible. I was alone in the apartment cooking lunch in the kitchen and sweating vigorously. Even stripping down to my bra and underwear didn't cool me down. I made the mistake of texting Kirsty about it and she called me sounding even more worried than normal and told me to go to the lab as soon as possible. "Go to the one in Abura because it's the only one open in Cape Coast on a Saturday. It closes around one though, so I would leave soon. And if it's closed give Lawrence a wee call to go with you to a hospital."
There was no way I was going to a hospital. I don't like taking precautions, especially when there isn't an alarming and tangible reason. Sure, that may be reckless, but some people - women in particular - know their bodies more than any doctor or test could. Going to the doctor before giving my body a chance to fight its own battle is like I'm stepping on my body's toes, so to speak.
But Kirsty tells me I can't tough things out in Africa. I thought I might as well go to the lab to get her to stop trying to diagnose me and to rule out the two "big ones" before figuring out what to do about the parasitic friend possibly visiting me. Plus, I didn't know if my condition was serious enough to skip the Halloween party I was supposed to go to later that night. After a 10-minute walk at the hottest time of the day down the mother of a hill we live on and taking a taxi to the lab in Abura, I found to my great displeasure the lab was closed. It was only 20 past noon, why was it closed already? Or maybe a better question: Why is there only one medical lab open in Cape Coast on Saturdays? Normally "because it's Africa" works for me but in this particular moment it wasn't a good enough answer. No labs here are open Sundays, so I would have to wait until Monday to figure out what was wrong with me. I sat defeated and depleted on the front entrance's stairs, chin cradled in both hands and elbows on my knees. After a solid 15 minutes of people-watching, I got a taxi and made him stop at the local gas station before taking me home. Feeling sorry for myself, I bought vanilla ice cream and a Snickers bar.
After a bowl of ice cream I felt a lot better. Maybe I was getting overheated because our kitchen has poor ventilation and I was cooking a hot dish, I thought to myself. Or maybe it was just a hotter day than normal. After all, we are phasing into the dry season right now. As a temporary solution I decided I would buy a dewormer pill next time I'm in town. Considering my symptoms, I don't think I have any inside me, but it's an advisable "for good measure" for expats. A couple months ago I was informed by an expat friend to take a dewormer pill once every three months while abroad. Also having heard you're supposed to de-worm every six months, I made a mental note to look it up online but didn't get around to it until I became convinced I have a parasite in me.
Convinced... sheesh.
Thanks, Lariam and Google, for keeping me up at night.
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