“Even with vaccines people get typhoid like illness. This
sounds like that.” Dang, I knew it. I
thought, staring at the e-mail.
I’d woken at 1:30 in the morning, my stomach gripped by
painful spasms and spent the next 5 hours in and out of the bathroom. I can’t do this again. I’d been sick for
the last week, but my symptoms had begun to improve. Now it was all back and
even stronger than before.
In between vomiting fits I’d managed to send an e-mail to
the local expat doctor. At 8:30am I had an e-mail response with her suspicions
confirming mine and instructions to get to the clinic for a blood test.
Our driver licenses are still processing at the local police
station so getting to the clinic wouldn’t be as simple as jumping in a car or on a moped. I
texted an expat I thought might be able to take me. She responded that she
could, but it would be later in the morning. Anxious for relief, I decided to
make my own way to the clinic. I would walk to the main road, take a taksi to
the bottom of the hill, and there hire a motorcycle to take me to the top where
the clinic was. Easy.
I got dressed, filled my water bottle, and put on my back pack. I can do this. Ben and Isaiah
prayed with me and I set out, only thinking of the medicine I needed to feel
better.
I walked slowly to the main road and caught a taksi. So far so good. Getting out at the
bottom of the hill near the clinic I looked for a motorcycle to hire. There
were none. Perhaps if I walk up a little
to the fork in the road I’ll find one. And I set out slowly.
The farther I walked, the more it became apparent there were
no motorcycles to hire. Spotting some Papuan women, I asked for help. “You can’t
get a motorcycle here” they told me. I thanked them and walked away in tears.
The day was already heating up and what little strength I had was fading fast.
I would not be able to walk up the 600ft hill to the clinic.
God! I prayed,
because sometimes there just aren’t any other words.
At that moment a silver car turned the corner and my eyes
met with the driver’s. It was an expat woman I did not know. Flagging her down
I asked, “Are you going to the top? Can I have a ride to the clinic?” She
smiled and let me in. Thank you, God!
I silently prayed.
I got out at the clinic and went in for the blood test. At
the check-in desk a bright blue painting caught my eye. You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you, written in swirly cream letters.
A half hour later it was confirmed; I had a bacterial
infection similar to typhoid. I took the first double dose of antibiotics there
in the clinic along with a deworming tablet for good measure. I wasn’t leaving
anything to chance.
With no ride back down the hill I put one foot in front of
the other, made it to the bottom, and caught a taksi home. Exhausted and again
in tears, I took a cold shower and fell into a long sleep. 48 hours later my
symptoms were nearly gone and even now I continue to improve.
Of course, it’s obvious that I should have waited a few
additional hours for a ride to the clinic. I would have returned with much less
stress on my body. Next time I will.
But now I know a little what it must feel like for many who
become ill without the luxury of transport. I understand a little better how
much emotional strength and determination it takes just to reach a clinic.
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