Getting Sick

If you get ill in Ghana, it can be serious. Simple diseases treated lightly in the west will fester under the hot conditions and on sweaty bodies, and before you know it you’re in trouble. It’s best to rest and get the recovery right.

This is graphic account of how I got it wrong.

Last Tuesday I got the runs, not uncommon out here. I ‘lost’ everything, breakfast lunch and dinner, and went to bed with only water and a couple of Sprites in me.  On Wednesday I felt fine, carried on doing manual labour around the house and in the grounds, drinking and eating light meals, but the diarrhoea continued.

Thursday was a nightmare with me curled up in bed shivering, sweating then shivering again. My stomach was able to take stuff in, but wouldn’t let anything drop into my intestines, and my water intake dropped to almost zero.

Friday I felt better and, assuming I was over the worst of it, worked part of the day outside, getting sunburn on my shoulders, I still couldn’t hold food, and was unable to drink a lot of water, but it seemed it would be over soon. On Saturday I was back in bed, less sick than before but uncomfortable. My stomach was again playing up and I still couldn’t replenish those missing fluids.

By Sunday I had deteriorated significantly, and at lunch time was lying in bed with a numb face and hands, severe dizziness, sweating and in a lot of pain. Eventually we called a neighbour, who helped carry me to his car and drive me to the hospital in Tema. I was admitted as an emergency, suffering from very severe dehydration. A drip was loaded into both arms and three 500ml infusions drained into me, along with intravenous antibiotics to kill the still present bacteria. After three hours I was much improved and sent home with antibiotics and immodium.

By Monday afternoon the fever was back, the dizziness was back, and without waiting for further bad news we called the friend again and raced back to hospital. With a temperature of 40 degrees the doctors didn’t mess around, the drips went back in, as did two rounds of intravenous antibiotics and, having spent 2 hours lying on a hard bench in reception, I was found a place on the ward and admitted.

Entering the second week, and Tuesday was probably the lowest day of my 28 year life so far. The fever, intermittent previously, hit strongly from 2pm. Having been tested for Malaria and Typhoid and with both showing negative, the doctors could not explain what was wrong.  Lydia worked all afternoon and evening sponging cold water onto me whilst I lay in the hot Ghanaian hospital trying to stay alive. No doctors were available, and the nurses refused to give me any further drips without a doctor’s signature so I attempted to force down water to recoup the liquid lost to sweating.

It occurred to me, and I think to Lydia, that I may have left this too late, that had I come in on the third day, or the fourth this might be curable, but the symptoms were escalating and my body appeared to be in self destruct mode. The thought of your own end is unpleasant at the best of times, but -for a man with a logical mind- knowing you may have brought it on yourself through your own stupidity is almost unbearable.

Late in the evening the fever broke, and we both settled into a hot and fitful sleep.  The following day my condition improved, and the fever stayed away, although the doctors never did find out what was causing the illness.

It’s now Friday afternoon of the second week since the illness started, we’re back at home, and all my symptoms have gone. I’m still weak, but have a healthy appetite again – for Western food – and will be spending your ‘survival’ money getting the fattest bacon, burgers and chips money can buy to put some weight back onto my scrawny frame. With hind sight I hadn’t left it too late to get help, although I fear it was a close run thing. Next time we’ll be calling in the professionals sooner.

Me in 'prime' condition before I left for Ghana

Me at the lowest point of the illness

Lesson learnt. The hard way. Tim x