Hospital Visit

To play further catch-up, I guess I should fill you on my illness last month. 

Some of my sweet little helpers

I had been feeling a little tired the first week of June, but was still working and teaching all of my classes. On Sunday June 5, I couldn’t get out of bed and couldn’t even go to Mass. I had a temperature of 104 and continued with a fever for the rest of the day. By Monday the sisters insisted I go to the hospital. By that point in the morning I had had a 104 temperature for 6 hours. I had a high fever, a headache, and my arms and legs were aching, so I was showing all the symptoms of malaria. 

I didn’t bring anything to the hospital because I wasn’t thinking clearly and was only expecting to be there an hour before coming home, but when I arrived at the hospital, they immediately put me on an IV. The doctors refused to even wait for a blood test for malaria before putting me on the IV because my pulse was 60 points higher than average. 

The doctors were suspecting either malaria or a bacterial infection (both have the exact same symptoms) so I had blood tests taken and had to wait a few hours for the result. Finally, the doctors decided I had a bacterial infection, but they didn’t know what kind of bacterial infection or how I got it. In the United States, they test to figure that information out, but the doctors here say it’s not necessary to know that information for treatment so they didn’t test for it. However, they did know I came to the hospital too late to be treated easily and I spent the next 3 days on IVs having the antibiotics delivered directly into my bloodstream. 

Being stuck in a Rwandan hospital is a unique experience. Just like the prisons, the hospitals don’t provide food, so friends or the sisters had to bring me food for each meal. Although my doctors spoke English, I rarely saw them and my nurses preferred French (although one nurse spoke very nice English). It was interesting being sick and in a hospital and being forced to speak to my medical professionals in French. Being Africans, my nurses (all men) were very chatty and weren’t opposed to even waking me up to start a conversation, which was very different from an American hospital. 

I’ve also learned that Rwandese really like to visit when friends are sick, so I was getting many phone calls from people asking to come visit me. All I wanted to do was rest and was definitely not in the mood to entertain visitors (especially when I would have to struggle to communicate), so I had to keep asking people not to visit and then would feel so sorry when/if they were offended. Even though I still felt extremely weak, I went to Gatenga a week after being released from the hospital because the boys would not stop calling until they could visit or at least see me with their own eyes. They are just so sweet and are always very concerned about me.  

Anyway, after the three days I was released and stayed on bed rest for another week. After almost a month, I am still needing about 8 hours of sleep a night (before this I was getting about 6 hours) and I am also taking naps every day. 

The whole ordeal just really messed up my body. I lost a lot of weight in the hospital and ended up medically underweight, which really upset the sisters. They absolutely have spoiled me in the following weeks and have even been keeping a stash of Nutella so that I could gain back some weight. It’s been nice. 

The IV was also put in my left hand incorrectly and even though it was only there for 3 hours before I complained strongly enough that they switched the IV to my right hand (where it remained for the next 3 days), I still can’t use my left hand properly. I went back to the hospital and the doctor said the nerve is inflamed and it may take awhile before I can use the hand easily again. 

Since we handwash clothes at my site (and believe it or not, handwashing clothing is very physically taxing), the children have still been washing my clothes for me. The girls have been unbelievable generous with their time and work. They like to play rough, but whenever we are playing they always shout at each other “Regardez-vous les mains de Mary Elise!!!!” Whenever they see me doing housework or trying to wash clothes, they also push me away and insist that I let them help me. It’s been really humbling to have to rely on 11 year olds to wash my clothes or help with chores, but I think they are also very proud to be able to help me in some way. They have such good hearts, and I’m so grateful for their love. 

While this experience isn’t something I would ever want repeated, I am grateful for all the love I’ve been shown. I think this has helped me to really realize how much I can rely on the friends I’ve made here. It’s going to be tough to leave in just three and a half weeks. I can’t believe my time is coming to a close.