Malawi: Getting Sick on Placement

"Inga-rid?"
"Yes sweetie?"
"In the morning you should go to the hospital."


I groan and roll over as my little (host) sister looks at me with concern. I don't really blame her.. I'm lying on her kitchen floor. My roommate Chrissy and I had been cooking dinner for our host family, but things weren't completely going to plan. The pasta seemed to have melted into some kind of paste, our mushroom sauce was proof that oil and milk aren't supposed to be mixed together and now I was on the floor clutching my belly. Awesome.


Thinking back to our pre-departure training, I can't help but curse the accuracy of our "you'll probably get sick" warning. Now, 2 months later, I'm curled in the foetal position as I half-heartedly cling to an empty bucket and the remnants of my dignity.


I'd been so careful!
All of my water had been bottled or boiled, and I'd been risk assessing my meals more thoroughly than a team leader on a mission.. And yet here I was! Oh well - these things happen.


I will spare you the messy, smelly, alot-less-solid-than-it-should-be details of my condition... And focus instead on my experience of getting sick whilst on placement in a developing country (Malawi).


As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac this had been one of my biggest fears. I don't like hospitals.. Or needles.. Or blood. Very luckily for me, the next 24 involved all these things, along with a considerable number of complaints and wounded puppy noises to keep my roommate entertained... (Sorry Chrissy).


There were a few key differences I picked up on between my hospital visit here and going to a GP in the UK.


Firstly, just because its a hospital, doesn't necessarily make it exempt from charging 'Azungu' (foreigner) rates, as my team leader later informed me she was charged 20kw more the other day when she'd been in with another volunteer.


Secondly, there didn't seem to be any kind of queuing system. Awkward, particularly for polite foreigners. Nevertheless, when thr doctors door opened, a lady stumbled out, and in I went.


It turns out I needed a blood test and a finger prick to check for malaria. As squeamish as I was, I have to admit, everything seemed very hygienic and well maintained. The nurse was patient with me and didn't seem to judge when I asked for a moment and started meditating on the hospital bed. She tied a glove around my upper arm as a substitute tourniquet, waited for my signal then went for it. She also pricked my finger for a Malaria test, which sounded like quite a routine test and took about 15 minutes (similar to the HIV testing the UK volunteers went for to see what its like.)


Anyway, I'm sure you'll all be very pleased to know I tested negative to having malaria, and the doctor prescribed me some antibiotics which seem to be doing their job.


I can't say it was a pleasant experience, getting sick in unfamiliar surroundings, but I feel very lucky to have had a team leader who helped me get medical attention, a roommate who will throw Panadol at me when I wake her up making whimpering noises at 2am and a little host sister who insists on doing my dishes for me when I'm lying on her kitchen floor.


Well... Maybe not as lucky as all the other, healthy volunteers, but at the end of the day what can you do.
Sh*t happens... And, evidentially, not always when you want it to. ;)