I feel like $3,571.43!

Part 3

Continued from here (read the first two parts before reading this or else you'll be lost)

 

Tuesday:  Woke up early to more pain.  Peace Corps brought in the doctor from the embassy to run a few tests.  They felt my stomach, where the apparent bulge is on my upper left quadrant.  Tests for allergies were conducted.  Still eating yogurt and naan.  No rice today.  I tried white grape juice – still too sweet.  So far I have lost 8 lbs – all water weight I suppose.  There are whispers I could be sent to South Africa for some more testing, but I disregard all of it.  I miss my village.  I miss eating.  I miss feeling normal – what did that feel like again?  I’m starting to wonder if this is permanent... On the bright side, Mary is playing hangman with my via text.

Wednesday:  Water goes down smooth, just a small blip at the end of my esophagus.  Bread is my friend now too.  Dare I try that bland soup from Sana?  Why, yes I will.  Tolerable!  Oh sweet success, tears in my eyes, not from pain but satisfaction.  Full belly! 

Thursday:  Almost no pain, hurray!  It’s like Doxy never happpened.  Wow it feels so good!  I grabbed my leftover yogurts from the fridge at the lodge, tossed my room keys at the receptionist and skipped to the office.  Check in with the docs – tell ‘em I’m feeling great and then I’m outta here!  Still too soon to eat or drink carbonated beverages, alcohol, spice or flavor but I’m okay with that.  Yeah, I feel like a million kwacha! (roughly $3,571.43 USD)

 

 The End.

 

Geez...doxy did a number on my esophagus!

Part 2

Continued from here (you should read the first part before continuing with this part)

Saturday:  I went to America!  Well, actually just the American Embassy.  Dehydration set in and the Malawi heat didn’t help, so I went to the medical officer on duty for an IV.  She spent an hour pricking every vein in my body and apologizing because my veins kept popping. (Popping?! That sounds awful...)  At one point, I asked her if we could take a break because she had been digging around in the back of my hand for so long.  She finaly used a child’s needle and we were good to go.  I stayed there for two liter drips, leaving behind a bit of blood from the many pricks and a whole lot of dirt from my bare feet, as well as mini bruises all over my arms and hands.  I was put on some more anti-inflammatory drugs and was told I could be on a white diet: rice, bread, yogurt, light colored juices. The pain in my esophagus was pretty severe.  Spicy soup was a bad choice.  Selfish, Kathi.  Spent the day trying to soothe esophagus with yogurt.  I finally urinated.  My friend Katie Shea brought me her blender and I was so excited to make a smoothie!  Frozen strawberry yogurt, banana, milk – oh my mouth watered for the treat!  Alas, the banana was too much.  Christian has enjoyed the blender, though.

Sunday:  Still waking at 3 am due to pain.  I started the white diet – rice and naan – and it wasn’t too bad.  I ate the rice in between gulps of yogurt.  Shot of yogurt – rice – shot of yogurt – naan – shot of yogurt....repeat.  It was exhausting.  I took two naps today from the amount of chewing.  It still took me hours to finish eating a meal.  I ate the same bowl of rice over the course of the day.  I can’t tell if the pain has improved.  It’s still just too painful to eat.  Tried white grape juice – too much for the esophagus, which caused me to cry out in pain.  Now I’m just angry.

Monday:  The Peace Corps doctor is in – he felt around my stomach and esophagus and said something felt funny but he couldn’t be sure.  I was sent to get an ultrasound.  They found nothing.  They took an H Pylori test and I tested negatively, which is good.  I was told I would be staying in Lilongwe at least until Wednesday.   Again, I ate rice and naan and yogurt.  This diet is getting boring.  I talked to the Indian man at my favorite restaurant  (who by now has noticed me not eating my usual spicy goodness) and he recommended a bland soup that had more protein and nutrients than rice and naan.  I told him tomorrow, I hope.  Soup is still too thick.  I felt so weak in the afternoon I fell going up the stairs. Getting fed up.  Ready to go home.  If only...

 

To be continued...

Defeated by Doxy (and chocolate!)

Since I seem to have plenty of time on my hands being on med hold in Lilongwe, I thought I'd update you on my current status.

Peace Corps Volunteers take malaria prophylaxis to prevent the malaria parasite from attacking their bodies. In Malawi, we are started off on Mefloquine, moved to Doxycycline (when the violent hallucinations become severe) and switched to Malarone (when you suffer from enough internal chemical burns). At least that was the case for me.

(click on the underlined items to read previous blogs on this matter)

Remember the Mefloquine madness?

And then I was looking dapper with Doxy for a while...

But then malaria struck and it sucked.

When you take Doxy with very little water or fall asleep soon after taking it, it can sit in your esophagus and burn the $#^@ out of it, causing you to be unable to eat for several days. It feels like intense, constant heartburn and varies in intensity thoughout the day and is worse when anything is ingested.

The reason I got malaria was during one of my five major esophageal burns. I took a doxy, went to bed, woke up in the middle of the night with serious pain and after that it was like negative reinforcement - why would I want to take Doxy when my chest hurt so badly? I skipped my doxy for several week - yes, very bad - and sure enough wound up with an even worse fate: malaria.

This week has been the worst esophagitis (inflammation in the esophagus - in my case, caused by chemical burns) I've ever suffered. I like timelines:

Sunday [evening]: Shoot! Forgot to take my doxy! Oh but I'm so tired. No, malaria sucks, I gotta take it! (Doxy popped in, splash of water down the hatch, back to bed)

Monday [early hours of the morning]: Gasp! Oh no, I feel it. I did it again! My chest feels like it's being stabbed repeatedly, breathing is difficult and no position is comfortable. Just gotta wait it out.

Monday: Ate mushy oatmeal. It took over an hour to finish. Couldn't eat the rest of the day.

Tuesday: Mushy oatmeal again but then later ate spaghetti because Robert visited. Yeah, I'm doing ok! But could not eat dinner.

Wednesday: The pain was excruitating. I cried on the floor for 4 hours. Then sat in a bucket and cried some more - a mixture of a low blood sugar attack and pain. Water hurt going down. I was extremely dehydrated. And hungry! Christian came over to make me soup. He made it bland enough to go down and cooked the vegetables until they were mush. It took two hours for me to eat it. I cried some more. Peace Corps Medical Office told me to make milk and sugar. I only had powdered milk which may have been too acidic due to the watery consistency and it took an hour to drink one cup. Cancelled my day, as I could not possibly leave my house in this state.

Thursday: Pain, pain, pain. I ate scrambled eggs for breakfast. I could manage nothing else. I just knew I had to keep my blood sugar up. Oh and the thirst! Drinking a glass of water was still an outrageous feat! I found an MRE Strawberry Milkshake...just add water and mix. It was amazing. The military has got it down with pre-packaged, dehydrated foods. It didn't taste too horrible and was loaded with sugar to boost me up and it was milky so it went down so smoothly! Ahh...thanks, cousin Jon for that little slice of heaven! The Peace Corps doctor was around the area and stopped in. He gave me pills to make the swelling in my esophagus go down (swallow pills?!) and offered to take me to Lilongwe that day or the following day, whichever I preferred. I said I'd see how I felt after these pills. He gave me a candy bar to cheer me up. I wept as I tried to eat it. Impossible. It burned. I threw it away. I THREW CHOCOLATE IN THE GARBAGE! I eat M&Ms off the floor after not knowing how long they've been there. But this chocolate made me angry. It represented defeat, so in the trash it went.

Friday: The inflammation pills did nothing overnight. Tired, hungry, defeated by a candy bar, I called the doctor to take me in. He gave me a baby banana which took me nearly three hours to eat. Seriously. I arrived, we talked business, switched to malarone on the spot (I told him I could not possibly take doxy again. And to be honest, I wouldn't if they did not switch me. This was miserable) I went to my room where the lodge promptly told me there was no more room (after Peace Corps made reservations) and I threw a fit - out of rage, hunger, pain, whatever. Thirty minutes later the man said, okay, there is a room. Embarrassed by my low-blood sugar induced behavior, I went straight to bed and proceeded to eat four cups of yogurt. Oh it felt so good going down. Sweet and cool and passed right by my burn without a hitch. I barely flinched and cried zero times! That's the definition of a successful meal. I started feeling brave. I decided to get some soup for dinner. It felt so good to have a full stomach, but now I wanted something delicious. I was greedy. I was foolish. I bought some soup from a take-away restaurant. It was probably too spicy but I couldn't help myself. I devoured the soup, slowly and cautiously with sips of yogurt in between. There were spurts of pain and I cried out loud, but it was too delicious to stop eating.

Saturday [wee hours of the morning - currently]: I awoke to severe pain in my esophagus once again. I also realized I haven't urinated in 24 hours. Was yesterday just a tasty massacre? Defeated again?!

To be continued...