Not Happy

It was one o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, and my friend, Lyndsie, showed up at my house to take me to a medical clinic. For those of you that know me pretty well, you know I avoid all things medical if I can. Since last Tuesday, I had been getting a fever, headaches, back pain, and muscle cramps on and off. In my brilliance, I decided the best course of action was to sleep more, take cipro for a day or two, and continue working. But when I woke up this morning and my fever was returning, I figured I maybe should go to a clinic. Turns out it is closed on Sundays. This was enough for me to decide I didn't really need to go and could just sleep everything away. Alas, 'twas not to be. Lyndsie insisted I go to the 24 hour hospital.

So I got on the back of a boda boda with Lyndsie and off we went down the pot hole ridden streets to the hospital. When we got there, a very kind nurse asked me what was wrong. I told her I haven't been feeling well the past week. She decided the first thing to test me for was malaria. I thought, "That's silly. I am on anti-malaria medication and have only been bitten about three times." Furthermore, a few of the other interns had found out they had a bacterial infection and were happily taking antibiotics. I probably had the same thing. Nonetheless, the nurse pricked my finger and squeezed some blood onto a tray. I sat there waiting for her to tell me she was going to run some other tests. Instead, she looked at me and asked about my symptoms. I told her, and she replied, "You have some malaria." Some malaria? Some? It turns out having some malaria means you have to get an injection in your ass and go on two different types of pills.

I am not a happy camper.