I know this sounds incredulous, especially since my last bout with malaria was less than one month ago.
But unfortunately, its true.
Malaria is like that lousy boyfriend that keeps coming back. And just when you think he’s gone for good, he’s looming round the corner waiting for you.
So how do I feel?
Oh, apart from the typical aches, pains, nausea, and headaches?
At first blush, I’m glad it was caught early before the disease is fully manifest. But when I ponder it further, I’m frustrated. Disturbed. Disheartened. Unsettled. Grumpy.
Why does God continue to allow this, when I have been so diligent about sleeping with a mosquito net and drenching myself with deet?
Why does Satan insist on tormenting me, stopping at nothing to ensure that my final days in Africa are miserable?
Here’s the scoop:
The doctor believes I may have a resistant strain, considering the number of times I’ve had it in the past few months.
The alternate theory includes that I may have developed a form of “recurring malaria”. (Not certain what this means, but that’s the best translation/explanation they can give me.)
Well, I’m resting at the house while receiving a course of intensive treatments.
My blood will be retested in a few days. If the malaria remains, I anticipate traveling to Nairobi to receive more acute medical care.
Trying to remain optimistic despite the disappointing drama of this soap opera.