Mosquitos Bandidos

Roughly three weeks ago, one of the many mosquitoes that bite my ankles every day happened to be infected with a virus that causes dengue fever. A week later (two weeks ago now), I was at work on a Tuesday, the day of the week that I am responsible for the meetings of 3 groups of bank women. The first meeting of the day was what we call a “bank closing”, where every woman absolutely must pay off the last of her loan, or else the rest of the women have to loan her the money. Bank closings are the most stressful thing that we do. They involve a lot of crying, pleading, arguing, loud noises, and heat. This closing lasted from 9-11 am. At 10am, out of the blue I instantly became more tired than I have ever been at that hour, and my muscles pretty much just shut down. I just sat there for the last hour of the meeting while my coworkers did everything, stunned at my body’s sudden exhaustion. The rest of the day I was completely incapacitated. I couldn’t eat, and basic functions such as walking and talking were a challenge. The last thing I did before leaving work was drive my coworker and $3,000 to deposit in the bank. That was a poor decision, and it is a miracle I did not pass out while driving the Project pickup truck.

I left work early and went straight to a local doctor’s office, where I was running a 103 degree fever and was misdiagnosed with an ear infection. As my doctor watched me shiver and bob my head as if I was going to faint, she changed her diagnosis to the H1N1 flu and told me to go immediately to a public hospital (apparently private ones here don’t have the resources to deal with said influenza). I didn’t believe her and desperately wanted a nap, so I went to bed, and the physical sensation that death was upon me quickly dissipated. Over the next 5 days I rested, drank tons of disgusting re-hydration formula, and nibbled on saltine crackers and white bread (while taking antibiotics for the non-existent ear infection). For a while I improved, but then my symptoms returned and included a soar throat and achy eyes. I suspected malaria or dengue, diseases that tend to have a second wave of symptoms.

I decided on a Sunday evening to go to the hospital. One of my housemates was going there anyway to check up on her finger after a horrifying incident one week prior involving cookies, an electric blade, and lots of blood and screams. So we went to the hospital, my housemate with a stitched and bandaged finger and me sick as a dog. Two hours after arriving at the ER the doctor told me I had dengue fever (ha! I knew it!), and that I would need to be hospitalized for 5 days (ohh boy…). Apparently dengue goes after white blood cells and platelets, and I had scarce amounts of both. So from Sunday evening until Saturday morning, I sat in a hospital bed in an air conditioned room, watched tons of cable TV, ate delicious food, and took walks up and down the hallway to check out the Managua skyline every night (Managua has widespread power cuts and almost no multi-story buildings, so the night skyline isn’t actually that impressive).

The first few days in the hospital were a little scary. The doctor described my case of dengue as a waiting game where we keep our fingers crossed that my platelet levels don’t go so low that the dengue becomes hemorrhagic, which he said would be “catastrophic”. They didn’t go dangerously low, gracias a Dios. I was comforted throughout my stay in the hospital by round the clock visitation from my housemates (someone stayed with me every night and most of the time during the days) and from a number of coworkers, my boss, five nuns bearing Gatorade and cookies, Father Joe (our in-country coordinator), and a handful of bank women! Turns out that a few bank women actually work at the hospital as janitors. Two of my favorite bank women (the ones dancing in a previous blog entry) tried to visit me, but were denied entry by the guard because they couldn’t conjure up my last name. The hospital was a good, private hospital (not Nicaragua’s best), perched on the only hill in central Managua about a 20 minute walk from El Recreo. I was glad I didn’t go to Hospital Vivian Pellas, the best hospital in the country located 13 kilometers south of Managua. It is undoubtedly more expensive, it’s too far for most potential visitors, and it is exclusively frequented by foreigners and Nicaragua’s elite. I very much preferred going to a nearby hospital that is modest but well respected.

I left the hospital on Saturday after being gauged for all I’m worth by the doctor who attended to me (I was definitely given the “gringo price”, although I hear it was peanuts compared to U.S. hospital fees). Had I gone to a public hospital, I would have gotten slightly inferior care, but would not have paid a dime. I am grateful that Nicaragua has universal healthcare for the vast majority of the population that can’t afford insurance or a doctor’s visit. I think that if Nicaragua could obtain medical expertise and resources from the U.S., and if the U.S. could adapt Nicaragua’s free basic health care and efficiency in billing and bureaucracy, then both countries would have phenomenal health care systems. Touchy subject these days, I know.

Anyway, it’s been two weeks since dengue first hit me like a train, and I’m back home and resting a lot. The doctor (the one with the freshly padded wallet) told me to rest for 2 more weeks, which sounds like a long time. I would hope to be back to work before then, but I’ll return to work when my body is good and ready. Today I talked on the phone with a gringa friend who has lived in Nicaragua for twenty something years. Her response to me telling her of my dengue; “Oh! Well, welcome to Nicaragua!”


Peace and Love,
Michael