The Trials and Tribulations of Typhoid

Ok, so typhoid is not a cakewalk.

This is what I know about malaria, having had it twice 3 years ago: it makes you feel like utter crap. You are tired but you can’t sleep. Everything aches- your head, your back, your non-existent muscles, your bones, your limbs, your eyeballs…. You have no appetite but something deep inside of you tells you you’re hungry because all you’ve had for two days is a Snickers bar and a Coke. You feel nauseous and smells (all of them) make it worse. You’re usually in a tropical climate without amenities so you’re hot, feverish, bored, and generally blah (a commonly used medical term in my family). What’s funny about all of these symptoms is that it’s not the actual malaria that makes you feel this way but rather the medicine that is supposed to make you feel better causing all of these maladies. The medicine lasts 3 days.

On the fourth day you feel like the sun has started shining again. You feel stronger and light-hearted. Your pants are looser and you’re enjoying the fact that you lost 5 lbs but also don’t feel guilty about the quantity of food you plan on eating during the day because you’re famished after not eating the previous 3 days. You smile more and just generally feel happy. There’s a bounce in your step and although you may have to take a nap from using the excess energy you just re-acquired too quickly, you happily tell people you feel SO MUCH BETTER!

This is what I know about typhoid- jack shit. I thought I knew it but I don’t. Typhoid is trickier. With malaria, I know that after the 3 days of pills I will most likely feel better. I thought the same thing about typhoid. I took all of my pills. The Monday after the beach I thought I was exhausted because I had spent the weekend traveling, getting too much sun (so much in fact that a woman who I thought was trying to sell me something and I was politely ignoring, followed me so she could get a picture of the radioactive-red white woman), and sleeping too little on Saturday night. On Tuesday I thought I just had the blahs. I tend to feel that way on Tuesdays after over overexerting myself on Mondays. On this same Tuesday, Sister Mary strongly suggested that I return to the clinic for another test. Meanwhile, my co-worker was feeling off as well. Between the both of us, we had the symptoms of typhoid but individually one of us was tired and the other had a runny tummy. I won’t go into specifics but horrific things happen in the bathroom when you have typhoid. Everyone is different in how they exhibit the symptoms and I felt lucky that I was not reproducing a horror movie on my bathroom visits. Nevertheless, claiming too much work (it really was a busy work week) we deflected Sister’s instructions, I mean suggestions, and promised to go to the clinic the next day.

Wednesday morning I knew something was wrong. I didn’t sleep well the night before, was nauseous, and had no appetite. Me not having an appetite is a big deal because I’m usually thinking about the next meal while washing up the previous meal’s dishes. I rolled into work late looking like death, managed to choke down a banana and a cup of tea, and didn’t fight Sister when she hustled us into the truck to the clinic. My co-worker was having a good day and had a big smile on her face. She felt fine, slept well, and wasn’t recreating cinematographic movies in the bathroom anymore. We again, guiltily, walked past the hundred people waiting and received tests. We returned to work for one more hour of internet and electricity and then got coconuts and a ride home.

On Thursday, I woke up fine. I had a class to teach. I was able to eat breakfast. I was ready to face the day. Sister called me and I asked how she was. “Oh, I’m fine but you’re not.” Apparently, my typhoid levels were concerning and she was having the driver pick my co-worker and me up and to take us to the hospital. “But I feel fine and I have to teach at the university today. Should I call in a substitute?” “I should think so,” was the clipped response. I was picked up by the driver and brought to the school to pick up my co-worker. Before we were put back in the truck, I was given my first and definitely not my last fiery lecture by this tiny Irish nun (later in the week she referred to the both of us as idiots). “You should have listened to me and gotten tested earlier. I’ve been here forty years. I think I know something about typhoid!” Her Irish brogue got stronger as she continued her tirade.  I’ve witnessed this sweet Sister get mad at other people but have never experienced any nuns’ wrath myself. I felt both chastised and the overwhelming urge to giggle. Luckily for my safety, I managed to suppress the second impulse.

Once we were safely tucked into the truck with nowhere to go, Sister Mary dropped the big news that we’d probably need drips. Having been stuck with needles for other medical purposes before in my life, I wasn’t worried about it, finding the entire experience amusing. My co-worker on the other hand got a caged animal look in her eye and immediately tensed up. We were ushered into the hospital and happily watched the news about the Queen’s impending jubilee while we waited. Sister secretly slipped into the doctor’s office and then came out with a knowing smirk. “You both need a drip.” Then this tiny slip of a woman wrestled my healthier sized co-worker back into the hospital as she tried to escape. The doctor in charge of us, also thwarted escape attempts by keeping up friendly conversation and pushing us into a hospital room.

The entire experience sounds scarier than it actually was. We, being employees of the infamous Sister Mary, were treated to one of the two air conditioned rooms in the hospital, which also happened to have a TV. To ease any discomfort or fear, the nurses sent in two visiting English doctors. We had each other for moral support and our own bathroom. Gearoid came with a Snickers, a Diet Coke (Diet Coke in Makeni was truly the highlight of my week!) and snarky comments (these comments were about how lucky we were to be in this room and the conditions experienced by the general population in the rest of the hospital. I did have massive white guilt but once again it was sadly suppressed by the comforts I was receiving. I swear my soul gets darker each day!). We each received 4 IV bags with antibiotics. She got to nap and listen to music while I was able to amuse myself with my Kindle and Bossypants by Tina Fey while CNN aired in the background. We joked with each other and made inappropriate comments that had the nurses amused (not so much by what we said but more by our uncontrollable giggling). It was a relaxing comfortable day- with of course the exception of a needle in my hand. I had some minor side effects but generally left the hospital 4 hours later with a bag of Tylenol and a bruise on my hand. 

The first time around- pills and coconut water

The second time around- 4 IV bags

I also received some amazing medical advice from one of the English doctors. What happened with my co-worker and I is that we had shared a water bottle the week before when we had low levels of typhoid. Our “alarmingly” high levels of typhoid were pretty similar and we only learned in the hospital that we can pass our typhoid back and forth (I know for a fact she didn’t take all of her tablets so I’m blaming this all on her). This new information had Gearoid worried so I asked the doctor if I could kiss my boyfriend without passing the typhoid. She paused for a moment and said matter-of-factly, “ Just don’t wipe your butt, touch your mouth, and then kiss him.” This new precaution has completely killed the romance in our relationship! (ßinsert sarcastic tone because I don’t want people to misinterpret the previous statement as fact.)

I don’t think I accidently ate more poop and got typhoid again. My low numbers just grew bigger. Most likely due to a lack of rest (and bottle sharing). The one thing I learned about typhoid is that it is highly unpredictable. One day you’re fine so you live life normally and push yourself to catch up from being too tired to accomplish everything the day before. They next day you suffer the consequences of the previous day’s activity by literally dragging your feet while walking and leaning on walls to support yourself during routine conversations with people. You’ll wake up one day and have a super healthy appetite and the next day you can barely keep down your coconut water. After the hospital, I spent the next few days in bed watching movies and reading books. I would go out for a few hours of activity and social interaction but would return exhausted. I think I’m getting better. My bedtime of 8:30 has slowly increased to 9:45PM. I’m listening to my body and resting up.

See I really am ok! This was taken 2 days after the hospital visit.