Home Sick

Today I am contemplating what to write for this weeks update. The only thing I can say is that I was sick. Which leads me to write a blog post about health care in Uganda, well at least a commentary on my personal experience. I apologize in advance for the lack of pictures. The only thought in my head was to see a doctor and feel better. Therefore, the camera stayed at home.

For the past ten days I haven’t been feeling well, but nothing that would really prevent me from working. Then on Sunday it hit. I doubt that many of you need the details, considering that this is a public blog and symptoms are not really exciting to read unless you are a doctor. Lets just say, I was sick. Really, really sick.

I spent Sunday and Monday praying I would get better. Fighting strange symptoms that would not compute to the normal illness one might find in the States. Tuesday I spoke with a dear friend, Dorien, who is a nurse and conveniently lives in the apartment above me. After a brief consultation and a call to her mom, we determined I needed to see a doctor. She gave me the numbers of two doctors that the muzungus use. I called the first on the list, Dr. Debbie, and she answered. Here is the first cultural difference! Unless you knew the doctor personally, you would never schedule an appointment with a doctor directly. Yet I did. Dr. Debbie is Australian who has lived in Uganda for six years and works for a clinic that is respected around the world.
Wednesday I woke up, took a boda to the compound that Dr. Debbie lives and works. After greeting a handful of men, I was directed to wait in the hallway. Dr. Debbie emerged and I she brought me into her office/examination room. Quite literally, there was a desk, a few chairs, medical supplies, and an examination table in the corner. After discussing my symptoms, her looking at my head, and feeling my stomach, she believed I had a virus. She wrote on a paper and instructed me to go and get blood work done at a different clinic.

I hopped on a boda, and directed the driver to where I needed to go. I enter this compound and there were 20-30 individuals waiting outside in the courtyard, all looking very ill. I walked into the building and up to the front desk and told them what I needed. The receptionist flatly responded that it would be 15,000 shillings (roughly $7). I hand her the money and she tells me to go to the back, through the red door. I entered right when a man finished drawing someone’s blood. I hand him my papers and he directs me to wait. I proceed to watch two other people’s blood get drawn in front of me, which Ugandan’s call bleeding. I suppose you are bleeding but purposefully which is why American English has a different term. In addition, Americans are very private people both in daily life and with medical issues. This is not the case for Ugandans. I saw everything.

The room was divided in half, divided by a glass wall. On one side was a few chairs a tall table and behind the table another chair where the lab tech drew the blood. On the other side of the room was where the blood was tested. A few men, listening to the radio, worked on wooden tables, with microscopes that reminded me of high school biology class. When my turn came, I told the man that my veins were difficult to find. To which he immediately responded by having me sit in the lab for one of the other men to draw my blood. At which point, we all began to chat about life (read=them incredibly curious as to why a white woman was sitting in their lab and if I was available to date). Miraculously enough this lab tech was able to draw my blood on the first try! Please know, that most American lab techs are never, ever able to draw my blood out of my arm! Or should I say, able to bleed me.

An hour later, my results were done and I went back to Dr. Debbie’s office. Unfortunately, I missed her by a few minutes and sat to wait for her return. During that time, I spoke with the man who cleans the compound, and watched as Dr. Debbie’s children run up and down the halls getting lunch prepared. About halfway through my wait, a young man walked in looking terrible ill. He has only been here for three weeks but from a non-trained eye, it looked like he had Malaria. I felt so bad for the man as he seemed completely full of anxiety to the fact that he was sick. I am sure his anxiety was a combination of being in a new country, being sick, and not knowing what he would do. Yet it is so common for people to become ill! I am constantly hearing about people in the hospital, people dying, etc. that it has become normal. Sickness is part of life anywhere in the world- but illness that is preventable with modern medicine and yet people still suffer, is part of life in Uganda.

Finally, Dr. Debbie returned, read my results, and wrote (in my notebook) the medication I should buy. In Uganda, you do not need a prescription. I went to the pharmacy, told them what I wanted, and they sold it to me. Many people will often for-go the doctor and head straight to the pharmacy, explaining their symptoms and requesting their advice on medication. After spending $1.50 on medication, I proceeded to my house where I crashed, exhausted and sick.

All in all, I spent roughly $30 on doctor’s fees, blood work, transportation, and medication. In the United States, people would call that a good deal. In Uganda, people don’t have that kind of money. I am not wealthy, to American standards, to any extent. I would probably fall under the poverty line given the fact that I am taking out student loans. However, I am wealthy compared to the majority of people I interact with on a regular basis. My wealth was able to provide the necessary doctors, blood work and medication so that I will be better in a few days. For others, their lack of wealth would could potentially be life threatening.