Riding the wave
All you can do with malaria is sweat it out. After we make it back to Mopti (just before midnight of the same day my condition has been diagnosed) and I’ve got the first round of drugs down my neck, that’s exactly what I do: find a quiet place to stay, retire to a darkened room and wait for the fun to begin.
There’s nothing much of interest to say about this period of my life. The illness comes in waves; all I can do is lie back and try my best to ride them when they sweep in.
First comes the cold, the same uncontrollable shakes that first heralded the illness. Next it’s the fever, the headache and the endless thrashing around trying to find somewhere comfortable for jumpy legs and arms. During this phase, your world shrinks to the confines of the room around you; contemplating the outside world is impossible.
Then the fever breaks, and it’s like emerging from a dark cave, blinking in the sunlight. All that’s left is a complete lack of energy and a numbness compounded by the strong cocktail of drugs I’m on.
I’ve been prescribed, among other things, a particularly hefty dose of mefloquin, the same stuff as I’m taking on a weekly basis anyway as a prophylactic. A hallmark of this potent chemical is that it leaves you with a hollow feeling at the centre of your being that’s hard to pin down and even harder to put into words. Suffice to say, it makes me feel like a bit of a vegetable and I spend much of my convalescence peering vacantly into space like some Nam veteran with a 1000-yard stare.
Tags: Drugs, malaria, Travel
djnorwood