Blaaaaargh doctors

A couple of months ago I was collapsing. I’d feel exhausted and my body would drop as if it weighed a million kilos and I would be forced to lie down. I had extremely low blood pressure. This was followed by a whole host of problems – joint pain, food poisoning, eye infections, it seemed every day brought something new. Over the course of a month and a half I saw 7 doctors. Three in Uganda, three in London, one in New York. Being uninsured in the US, I think I dished out about $2000. From chronic fatigue syndrome (British doctor in UG) to thyroid problems (Ugandan doctor in UG) to dengue fever (British doctor at Centre for Tropical Diseases in London) to parasites (American Doctor in NYC) I was tested for pretty much everything. Nurses sucked my blood dry, I slept a lot and paid a lot of money.

Since returning to Uganda over a month ago I've been feeling a lot stronger. But I did get a cough from Angelica a couple of weeks back. Today I was coughing away while sitting in Café Pap (a sort of muzungu hang out in central Kampala with wireless and delicious beef fajitas which the waiters pronounce as fa-gee-tas) when a random man came up to me. It is quite normal here to be approached by a strange man. You’ll be walking along the street and a Ugandan man will stop you and say “Hi, give me your number, I want a white friend”. Or you’ll be walking out of a restaurant and a Ugandan man will say “Hi, you’re beautiful, Susan”. Susan? Who the hell is Susan? Do you think all muzungus are called Susan? Or you’ll be driving innocently to a leadership class and a car will stop you. You think they need directions but actually all they want to say is “Hi, I just wanted to say you look really good”. It’s really very bizarre how men in this country believe that they can just pick up muzungu women with a combination of naïve confidence and complete lack of social tact. This particular guy was a boarder. He didn’t have a Ugandan accent or an American accent but something in between which is generally the case for rich Ugandans who’ve been educated at a posh boarding school outside of Uganda (Kenya for example). Instead of spewing some nonsense he goes “Sorry to be troublesome and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you may have TB. You should get yourself checked out at the doctors. More people die in Africa from TB than AIDS”. I don’t know which is more welcome – being told I may have TB by a stranger, or being chatted up by a stranger.

I text Angelica. Can you look up TB symptoms for me? She sends symptoms along with “UG ranks 15 in world for incidence of TB. Cure is 6 months of meds”. Sooooo, reluctantly I go to the doctor. I have been coughing for a couple of weeks pretty badly. I constantly feel as though something is lodged inside my chest and it can’t come out. The doctor listens to me cough and tells me to cough into my shirt instead of my hand so as not to infect anyone when shaking hands. Great start.

Poke, prod, pokety poke, needle blood samples, blow into some inhaler thing, breath deeply until you’re dizzy and verdict is I don’t have malaria (yet) but I have asthma (I now have one of those breather thingys) and bilharzia (prescription: 6 pills that make you throw up) and TB results will come on Saturday. THIS IS WHY I HATE GOING TO THE DOCTOR. Inevitably, there’s seems to be a shitload wrong with me every time I go. It’s like getting my car checked. I get one thing repaired and the mechanic tells me I also need to replace X Y and Z. Since moving here my body has gone to hell.

Conclusion is I refuse to take my bilharzia pills until after next week. I got bilharzia from swimming in a crater lake and most likely I’ll be swimming in it again on Tuesday. So I may as well catch it again and then take the pills to get rid of it for real. And I really hope I don’t have TB. I hear you can’t drink on those drugs.