"hello, ladies! are you from texas? come sit here! how are you?" (real line, from the old taxi park)
These have been two of the most incredibly active weeks of my life, in spite of all the sitting around I’ve been doing. Rewind to the last week of March - I’m battling my second case of gastroenteritis in Uganda, but the first was viral and this was bacterial. I went to Pallisa for my practicum on Wednesday instead of Sunday because I was sick, and also delayed by my ACTFL, which had been delayed by sickness and the failure of my examiner to show up. My mom drove me to the bus par, (neglecting to tell me that she had to conduct a job interview on the way) and I was off to Mbale! So my first morning at Kavule Parents’ School for the Deaf, I was all set to observe, as I discussed with the headmaster. Somehow, I ended up teaching Primary 1, 2, and 3 different curricula simultaneously without a curriculum. I still don’t exactly know how that happened, but we all came away having learned, so it worked out well in the end.
I also finished my course of antibiotics that day (Thursday 31 March), but I wasn’t feeling 100% yet, and Friday I was feeling worse, so that by Friday night I woke up several times unable to move with abdominal cramps, vomiting, diarrhea (different times, thankfully). So I saw a doctor in Mbale the next morning who, although I complained of weird gynaecological symptoms, refused to say the word “vagina” (although he did use such beautiful euphemisms as “down there” and “woman’s parts”). He also informed me with a conspiratorial smirk that his practice didn’t prescribe more than four medications at a time because “you know these Africans, they don’t know what to do, they can’t keep it straight.” And he was a Native Ugandan! Man, if I hadn’t been too dehydrated and malnourished to respond…needless to say, I got a second opinion.
I decided to come to Kampala to see a doctor, since that’s where most of the best doctors are (and my program director told me I had to come back), but by the time I got to the clinic it was closing and the doctor saw me briefly and diagnosed me with gastroenteritis, as well as dehydration. Upon examining me more thoroughly the next day he also told me that I had a urinary tract infection and that protein was coming out in my urine, meaning that my body had begun to break down my proteins because it had run out of glucose - in other words, I was showing signs of starvation. I got some antibiotics, oral rehydration salts, and vitamins, painkillers, and I was told to come back in 3 days if I wasn’t feeling better.
Meanwhile, I had only planned on staying in Kampala for 24 hours at most (leaving Saturday, back in time to teach classes Monday morning) so I hadn’t packed things like, you know, more than 2 changes of underwear, a shirt that I could wear even semi-presentably, work to do or things to entertain myself. I also hadn’t locked up my stuff at the school (I was completely out of it when I left Saturday morning) including the ½ million shillings (half of my practicum stipend) in my bag.
So I bode my time at my friends’ house in Kampala (11 people were staying in Kampala for the lion’s share of their practica so decided to rent 2 houses together in a compound) and waited to feel better. And waited…and waited… Finally Wednesday rolled around and I went back to the clinic, where the doctor suggested I get an ultrasound at the hospital, which I did, and it showed that my pelvis was, in fact, perfectly healthy, so I might not have had a UTI at all. So I told her about this strange but lingering pain that I’d had for a few weeks on my right side halfway between my breast and hip. “Oh, that’s your appendix,” she informed me. (I thought it was on your left side!) So she told me that if I had another attack like I had at Kavule, I should get to a hospital immediately and get a C.T. scan ‘cause it might be appendicitis. So I waited.
I didn’t have to wait long, though, since the attack came on Thursday night, coming on about 10pm, so by 2:30 I called Dan and he took me to the hospital, where I was admitted and hooked up to an IV for hydration and would be seen the next day because there was only one doctor on duty right then. (side note: while I was waiting, a nurse came over to me and asked me if it would be alright to wait a little longer since they just had a casualty come in that they were treating. Yes I can wait! No, since I’m white, you should deal with my little appendix problem first and let the near-death Ugandan hang on a bit.) So in the morning I got an ultrasound by a terribly misinformed doctor, but then saw the surgeon who performed some physical examination, asked me questions, and informed me that in fact I had acute appendicitis and required an emergency appendectomy immediately. Surgery was scheduled for an hour later.
Ha. I tried to call my folks, but I got their message machines since I forgot about the time difference and the fact that they weren’t at work but, rather, asleep at home. The messages went something like this: “Hi, I love you! Everything’s fine, I’m getting my appendix out, don’t worry, the hospital’s really nice and I’m doing okay and I’ll call you after the surgery! I love you! Don’t worry!” Man, would I have killed me if I were my parents! So finally Dan came to see me at the hospital and reminded me that I could just call home and wake them up. My mom answered. “Hi, Mommy, everything’s fine, I love you! I’m getting my appendix out in about an hour.” “Steven, honey, wake up - Allie’s getting her appendix out in Africa.” To their credit, they really relaxed about it quite quickly, impressing me and my staff, as well, who thought they would flip and make me come home. Actually, everybody thought I would go home, it seems, but I’m hell-bent on staying! And, knock on wood, I seem to be recovering quite well - up and around in town in under a week? Pretty good, I think.
So the surgery went really smoothly, and my recovery was going likewise. I was living with Dan and his family, including his wonderful wife Harriet who used to teach traditional African dance at Marlboro College (yes, in VT) and their two kids, Christabelle, who’s a year and 10 months, and David, who’s 8 months old. So cute! And wonderful for my recovery too (although they climb on me all the time and occasionally jab my surgery site)!
I moved out of their house and back into my friends’ house in Kansanga (an area of Kampala) and was doing well for a day or so but then got this virus that was presenting rather like malaria, which worried me, but I saw the doctor again and he gave me some basically glorified ibuprofen, and with a couple days’ time it’s gone away, and I am now officially on the mend, once and for all.
So now I’m checking my e-mails for the first time in a couple of weeks, which is good but also a little stressful (aah, smith account which keeps me on lists of things like the daily e-digest and the s.o.s. newsletters!). But overwhelmingly, life is good.
Love,
Allie
I also finished my course of antibiotics that day (Thursday 31 March), but I wasn’t feeling 100% yet, and Friday I was feeling worse, so that by Friday night I woke up several times unable to move with abdominal cramps, vomiting, diarrhea (different times, thankfully). So I saw a doctor in Mbale the next morning who, although I complained of weird gynaecological symptoms, refused to say the word “vagina” (although he did use such beautiful euphemisms as “down there” and “woman’s parts”). He also informed me with a conspiratorial smirk that his practice didn’t prescribe more than four medications at a time because “you know these Africans, they don’t know what to do, they can’t keep it straight.” And he was a Native Ugandan! Man, if I hadn’t been too dehydrated and malnourished to respond…needless to say, I got a second opinion.
I decided to come to Kampala to see a doctor, since that’s where most of the best doctors are (and my program director told me I had to come back), but by the time I got to the clinic it was closing and the doctor saw me briefly and diagnosed me with gastroenteritis, as well as dehydration. Upon examining me more thoroughly the next day he also told me that I had a urinary tract infection and that protein was coming out in my urine, meaning that my body had begun to break down my proteins because it had run out of glucose - in other words, I was showing signs of starvation. I got some antibiotics, oral rehydration salts, and vitamins, painkillers, and I was told to come back in 3 days if I wasn’t feeling better.
Meanwhile, I had only planned on staying in Kampala for 24 hours at most (leaving Saturday, back in time to teach classes Monday morning) so I hadn’t packed things like, you know, more than 2 changes of underwear, a shirt that I could wear even semi-presentably, work to do or things to entertain myself. I also hadn’t locked up my stuff at the school (I was completely out of it when I left Saturday morning) including the ½ million shillings (half of my practicum stipend) in my bag.
So I bode my time at my friends’ house in Kampala (11 people were staying in Kampala for the lion’s share of their practica so decided to rent 2 houses together in a compound) and waited to feel better. And waited…and waited… Finally Wednesday rolled around and I went back to the clinic, where the doctor suggested I get an ultrasound at the hospital, which I did, and it showed that my pelvis was, in fact, perfectly healthy, so I might not have had a UTI at all. So I told her about this strange but lingering pain that I’d had for a few weeks on my right side halfway between my breast and hip. “Oh, that’s your appendix,” she informed me. (I thought it was on your left side!) So she told me that if I had another attack like I had at Kavule, I should get to a hospital immediately and get a C.T. scan ‘cause it might be appendicitis. So I waited.
I didn’t have to wait long, though, since the attack came on Thursday night, coming on about 10pm, so by 2:30 I called Dan and he took me to the hospital, where I was admitted and hooked up to an IV for hydration and would be seen the next day because there was only one doctor on duty right then. (side note: while I was waiting, a nurse came over to me and asked me if it would be alright to wait a little longer since they just had a casualty come in that they were treating. Yes I can wait! No, since I’m white, you should deal with my little appendix problem first and let the near-death Ugandan hang on a bit.) So in the morning I got an ultrasound by a terribly misinformed doctor, but then saw the surgeon who performed some physical examination, asked me questions, and informed me that in fact I had acute appendicitis and required an emergency appendectomy immediately. Surgery was scheduled for an hour later.
Ha. I tried to call my folks, but I got their message machines since I forgot about the time difference and the fact that they weren’t at work but, rather, asleep at home. The messages went something like this: “Hi, I love you! Everything’s fine, I’m getting my appendix out, don’t worry, the hospital’s really nice and I’m doing okay and I’ll call you after the surgery! I love you! Don’t worry!” Man, would I have killed me if I were my parents! So finally Dan came to see me at the hospital and reminded me that I could just call home and wake them up. My mom answered. “Hi, Mommy, everything’s fine, I love you! I’m getting my appendix out in about an hour.” “Steven, honey, wake up - Allie’s getting her appendix out in Africa.” To their credit, they really relaxed about it quite quickly, impressing me and my staff, as well, who thought they would flip and make me come home. Actually, everybody thought I would go home, it seems, but I’m hell-bent on staying! And, knock on wood, I seem to be recovering quite well - up and around in town in under a week? Pretty good, I think.
So the surgery went really smoothly, and my recovery was going likewise. I was living with Dan and his family, including his wonderful wife Harriet who used to teach traditional African dance at Marlboro College (yes, in VT) and their two kids, Christabelle, who’s a year and 10 months, and David, who’s 8 months old. So cute! And wonderful for my recovery too (although they climb on me all the time and occasionally jab my surgery site)!
I moved out of their house and back into my friends’ house in Kansanga (an area of Kampala) and was doing well for a day or so but then got this virus that was presenting rather like malaria, which worried me, but I saw the doctor again and he gave me some basically glorified ibuprofen, and with a couple days’ time it’s gone away, and I am now officially on the mend, once and for all.
So now I’m checking my e-mails for the first time in a couple of weeks, which is good but also a little stressful (aah, smith account which keeps me on lists of things like the daily e-digest and the s.o.s. newsletters!). But overwhelmingly, life is good.
Love,
Allie