Category: Health

Aftermath (Part 3)

April 29, 2022 By Ruth Misori

I wanted emotional support, so I typed in malaria survivor stories, which took me to various websites that probably took hours to read and reread. Some of the stories were similar to my dad’s while others had alternative endings. Some lived and some died, and there were people from all walks of life: Men, women, adults, children, rich, poor, natives, foreigners, and so forth. Malaria is a horrible disease that doesn’t discriminate!  It doesn’t matter if you’re a child, an infant, a parent, a student, a doctor, or whatever you are! Recovery is not always promised once infected.

There are several strains of malaria, and you don’t get to choose which one you have or what ending you experience. My father once assumed that because he’s from Africa, that he’ll never get sick, and years later he almost died of the P. falciparum strain that was destroying his bloodstream! Wake up! While this mostly happens in developing countries, people from all over the world are still getting it. People you know may have fought this disease or knows someone who has! And death has no eligibility requirements, just recipients and the only awards are communal loss. This results in devastation and are countless!

It is your responsibility as an international traveler to do your research when going to any of those countries with high risks of malaria. Don’t wait until the last minute or until it’s too late. Please consult your primary care doctor or a licensed health care professional to discuss malaria prevention. Also, further discuss treatments that are available to you in the event that you do become sick. The most ideal time to do this at least two or three weeks prior to departure, and this is not including other travel vaccinations that you may be required or recommended to take way beforehand.

Do not rely on the word of mouth because people constantly spread misinformation that could cause you to jeopardize your health. The next step is to apply mosquito-repellant spray or cream to exposed skin, such as your arms and legs. Reapply it several times a day or until you feel it’s satisfactory. Then, use a malaria mosquito net for your bed whenever you rest, and make sure that the top of the net is tightly secured (Preferably on your fan) and the bottom of the net are neatly tucked underneath your bed mattress.

This could also work for bunks beds. Check your net to see if it’s in good condition (meaning they’re not torn). Mosquito nets do tear easily so it’s imperative that you change it multiple times every few weeks. Lastly, discuss any concerns that you have about malaria by asking your health care provider questions, including the potential side effects from the prescriptions you will take. Don’t be shy about any of your inquiries because he or she won’t be offended by them and are well-equipped to give you their best medical expertise, so trust them.

Once you leave your appointment(s), you will have received your prescriptions or vaccines, as well as some travel information which lists common illnesses in the country(ies) of your destination. Go over them carefully and follow all of your physician’s instructions regarding how to take your prescriptions before, during, and after you leave your destination(s). The most important piece of advice is to have fun. After reading all of this information it might be easier said than done, but I believe that one can still manage to enjoy his or her trips while following these steps. I just want people who do travel internationally to be cautious about malaria.

Flash forward to two months after father’s malaria infection, he completely recovered and was back to himself. I am extremely grateful to know that my dad’s life is in God’s hands and that He worked in our favor by restoring his health from malaria. I am especially grateful that despite his experience, we weren’t aware at the time until he returned home, because how do you inform a fourteen-year-old that her father is dying across the transatlantic ocean? More importantly, how does one go abroad to celebrate the life of a late relative while unknowingly preparing for his own demise? If dad had lost his earthly life, I don’t know what I would do. Who would notify us of his death since we didn’t have his relatives’ contacts? How would my siblings react? How would we quickly obtain passports and expedited visas? How would we arrange his funeral? Who would anoint our foreheads and bless us with prayers whenever we leave the house? 

I may never know the answers to any of these questions, nor will I ever understand how dad found himself in this dire situation. But I do recognize that he is now a living testimony of faith. The following year, dad’s mother passes suddenly, which means he has to travel back to Cameroon to be present for her funeral. My faith is once again being tested as I’m aware of malaria and how fatal it can be, so I pray consistently that my dad will be spared from it this time. The day he leaves for Cameroon, we bid our goodbyes and this time I tell him to ‘be careful’. He nodded understandably and I watched as he went through security so he can wave a final goodbye. He smiled softly as he was waving at the family.

Throughout his entire trip, dad called us regularly, and let us know that his health is great while abroad, which was a blessing. An even greater blessing is that this time he returned to the States malaria-free! Now six years later as I tell my father’s story, I hope that you gain the importance of awareness of this disease and learn something from it. I also take this day on April 25^th (World Malaria Day) to dedicate my gratitude to God in honor of my father’s testimony, as well as mourning the loss of millions of people who have died from it. Lastly, I want to use this day to celebrate those who have fought it, pushed through, and survived.

Recovery (Part 2)

April 27, 2022 By Ruth Misori

More silent questions continued until my sisters finally woke up and came to our parents’ room to greet dad. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you!” He said as he embraced them. Sure, enough they asked similar questions concerning his absence. “Well, I forgot my pills in Limbe and a few days after New Year’s I became very sick. I was supposed to go shopping to buy you souvenirs that day, but I was getting worse, so my brother suspected it was serious, and rushed me to the hospital. I was diagnosed with severe malaria and almost died.”

Our eyes widened. Malaria? That same mysterious illness that killed that family? Oh my God! It felt like I was being sucker-punched. Tears welled up in my eyes as we all cried and embraced our dad. “God, thank you for allowing me to see my children”, he choked up. We cried even harder for what felt like hours. We had to leave for school in an hour, but how does anyone function after hearing that? How can I go to school, smile and wave at my friends and go on about my day like nothing happened?

Minutes later we finally managed to console ourselves, so my sisters went to their room to get ready while I remained in the room with dad. “Wow, I didn’t know it was that serious. Is that why you didn’t call?” He nodded. “I was too weak to talk, and I was drenched in sweat. It didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t stop, and I had a pounding headache. I had no appetite. I couldn’t even lift my arm to pick up my water. I’ve never felt this bad before in my life”, he admitted. “Have you ever had malaria before?” “No, never! I grew up in Africa for twenty-five years and I’ve never caught malaria.” “Well, I’m so glad that you made it and I hope you get better. I love you.” “I love you too, Ruth.” I decided to let him sleep so he can recover quickly and went to my room to get ready for school.

I was trying my best not to have a mental breakdown, but the tears were ready to fall at any moment. Thankfully, this was during my last class period before school was done for the day. “Ruth, you look like you’re going to cry, it’s ok to cry”, a friend told me. “No, I’m fine, I’m just tired”, I lied. I didn’t know how to break the news of my dad’s near-death experience with anyone outside of the family yet. I just found out today so why would I feel comfortable telling them, even though they’re my friends?

Perhaps I didn’t want to say the words, ‘My father almost died’ aloud because then it would feel real. Unfortunately, this was a reality that my siblings and I stepped into. We spent our Christmas with joy and laughter, but then the thought hit me, “What if we spent the New Year’s fatherless?” Ever since dad told us of his experience, all I can think of are images of doctors and nurses desperately trying to save his life. His siblings and mother watching a frail Collins fight for his life as his health deteriorates rapidly. His organs shutting down, one by one while he lies helplessly on his deathbed.

Once I got home that day, I dashed to my parents’ room to check on dad. Fear stops me as I suddenly halt in front of the door. I turned to mom and my sisters with a frightened expression. “It’s ok, Ruth, go on. Check on your father”, mom said softly. My sisters peered behind me as I slowly turn the doorknob to await the image before me. I didn’t know what I would see. Would I discover a corpse? I pray to God I don’t otherwise I’ll have nightmares! I open the door and watch as he snores, much to my relief. I sighed and returned to my room. While my dad’s health miraculously improved as he was approved to travel, he still has a long journey of recovery ahead of him. He was still sweating profusely, and his appetite was nonexistent, but his headache went away as well as the jaundice in his eyes.

That coming weekend, I didn’t go to church as I wanted to help my dad recover. He was getting better, slowly but surely. I credit God for all of this because this situation could’ve turned out differently. To this day I still ponder the futures that God had in stored for that family. Maybe they will all inherit the treasures of Heaven one day. I made my way to my parents’ room as I overheard him on the phone with a friend. “Yes, my daughter, Ruth stayed home to take care of me”, he beamed. I softly knock on the door and open it as I slightly peep my head through. “Hey dad, do you need anything else?” “No, thank you, my dear daughter.” Dad sometimes referred to me as his dear daughter as a term of endearment.

I walked to my room and turned on my computer. I typed malaria rates in the Google search bar and to my horror, I saw the malaria transmission and death statistics. 212 million? You’re telling me that either 212 million people have contracted malaria or died from it? My heart immediately sank. I looked at the background of it. Malaria is French for ‘bad air’ and is a mosquito-borne disease that are found in female mosquitos, causing parasites to destroy your red blood cells. There are several strains of malaria, and you can catch any of them more than once. The one my father caught was the Plasmodium falciparum, which is the deadliest.

I then looked at the symptoms. Symptoms usually occur within two days to two weeks after one is infected, and some were similar to dad’s: sweating, chills, low appetite, persistent headache, fever, etc. Seizures are the last stage of malaria before one’s eventual death. Fortunately, my dad didn’t experience any seizures. Whew, what a relief! I glanced at the available treatments, which were an antiparasitic. Lastly, I looked at the prevention techniques: using a mosquito net at night, wearing mosquito-repellent spray or cream, and covering your arms and legs as much as possible to reduce mosquito exposure, in addition to taking your travel prescription all throughout the duration of your trip.

While I’m glad that there are great treatments and prevention methods, I’m still dismayed by the millions of lives that were destroyed, and all because of a small, venomous bite to susceptible, human flesh. It’s strange to think that sometimes an insect has more power than a strong, healthy individual. I cannot believe that I was in the dark about this. I should’ve done some research the moment it was brought up before father departed for his trip. Maybe this could’ve been prevented. Though, I understand now that it was no one’s fault as bad things happen to people all the time. After all, we live in a world of sin, so we can’t evade tragic things like this.

“Bitten”

April 25, 2022 by Ruth Misori

Have you ever travelled internationally before? If so, have you ever travelled to a country that has so many diseases that you weren’t even aware of until years later? Have you ever contracted an illness while abroad or even upon returning home? Thankfully, I haven’t experienced any illnesses while traveling abroad or coming home, yet I was still unfortunate to witness a close relative experience a life-threatening ailment during his trip abroad.

My father, Collins, is a native of the beautiful country of Cameroon, which is located in central Africa.  He grew up in the anglophone region in the city of Kumba, which is also nicknamed K-town. He was born and raised in the anglophone village with his parents and seven siblings for the first twenty-five years of his life. He later decided that he wanted to further his education by studying in the United States in 1985. Oftentimes he would visit Cameroon at least every 4-7 years since it was too expensive to visit annually. During those periods, he would visit relatives and life-long friends from primary school and would often travel to beachy areas such as Limbe, and mountain areas in the city of Buea.

Though he was a health professional- in fact, he is a nurse practitioner, he assumed that all his trips would turn out fine since he knew the basics of health and in addition to this, he took his travel medicine religiously. Sadly, he had the misfortune of encountering a near-death experience of malaria in January 2016. I vividly remember all of the events that occurred from the time my father was preparing his trip to Cameroon for Christmas, to the time that he returned home weak and frail, which took weeks of recovery. I was fourteen at the time, and initially I was happy for my father before he left for his trip since this was another opportunity for him to reunite with his loved ones, whom he hasn’t seen in years. I was especially excited for him as he was going for the purpose of preparing a nice memorial for his own late father of thirty years.

Memorials are a Cameroonian ritual, even decades after one has passed. We do it for the purpose of celebrating his or her lives by spending time with friends, singing, and dancing. We also wear colorful attires, and eat traditional meals like Fufu, Garri and Eru or Egusi soup, chicken, and Puff-puffs, which are my favorite. Goat is the most significant dish as it represents the sacredness of family bonds such as weddings, baby showers, and various special occasions. In addition to that, it shows respect to your patriarchal elders and demonstrates their importance as a person. It’s a bonus if you receive goat from a host because it signifies that he or she thinks highly of you. Anyway, my father was preparing this trip for months and was grateful to receive a donation of small clothes and toiletries from his coworker to give to the children who are less fortunate, so his suitcases were full.

Everything was arranged and all my dad had to do was show up so the memorial can start. Unlike funerals, memorials are actually a lot of fun because they are essentially parties in honor of our deceased loved ones. Time was moving faster and before I knew it, there was a week left so I wanted to spend as much time with my dad before he embarked his month-long vacation. One morning he took my sisters and me to school and he was telling us a story of how a small family visited their home country in either Nigeria or Ghana and all fell ill with malaria and died. “What a freak accident”, I silently thought to myself. What is malaria anyway? Did they all die one by one or was it within weeks of each other? All that mattered was that none of them survived and that they were wiped out by this mysterious illness. I’ve never heard of the term ‘malaria’ at that point, but I was frightened, nonetheless. I shrugged off any further thoughts of it and we drove the rest of the way to school in silence.

Two days before the trip my father takes my sisters and myself out to eat since we won’t see him for Christmas or New Year’s this year. Normally, I have fun spending time with my dad as I enjoy his company, but this particular time I felt a vague, unsettling emotion, like something bad was going to happen. I discarded that idea and assumed I ate bad pizza. The day before he leaves, I eagerly accompanied him to the airport to weigh his bags since it had a lot of children’s necessities in them. This time, I felt a little better than the night we went out for pizza but noticed that the slight discomfort was still there. The following day comes, and my mother and I drop my father off at the airport. I realized that my vague discomfort is completely gone, and I’m once again excited for father’s adventure. We then bid our farewells and I watch as he passes through the airport security before he does a final wave goodbye and leaves for his terminal.

I return to the car and listen to music on my phone as mother drives us home when I realized that I was supposed to ask him for his relatives contact numbers, in case something goes wrong. I pursed my lips in annoyance, which caught mother’s attention. She quickly glances at me and asks what’s wrong as I explain to her that we don’t have dad’s relatives’ contact information. “Don’t worry, Ruth, everything will turn out fine, just keep praying for your father and know that God is in control”, she reassured. I smiled. She was right; after all, mothers know best. What could possibly go wrong? I didn’t give anything else much thought and was looking forward to my Christmas plans with the rest of my family.

Two days later father finally called to let us know that he arrived in Cameroon safely. He made it a habit to call us twice a week since international phone lines are expensive. We also didn’t use WhatsApp at the time. I enjoyed the holidays as the days went by and received the last phone call from dad on Christmas. He informed us that the memorial went really well and was having a wonderful time. He promised to call us again on New Year’s. On New Year’s Day, I realized that he didn’t call all day. “That’s weird, he said he was going to call”, I said to mom. “Maybe the connection was bad”, she suggested. This however is true. Cameroon is a 3^rd world country, therefore power outages were common, so that’s something to prepare for in the future when visiting.

Ten days passed and we still heard nothing from dad. This was strange, even for him. My sisters and I grew anxious as he was supposed to return on the 5^th of January. “Mom, where is he? Why hasn’t he called any of us? I’m starting to get worried!” And I was. Did he catch bad food poisoning up to the point that he was too weak to talk? Was he kidnapped by Cameroonian soldiers? Was he martyred? I understand now that these were crazy thoughts to have, but I didn’t know what to think as this has never happened before. I decide to just pray very hard and search my parents’ bedroom at night to check to see if he returned, since he was supposed to return in the span of those ten days.

January 8^th comes, still no sign of dad, nor did I receive any phone call. I continue to check the room the next day at night. Nothing. Then the following day comes, no sign. I grow in a state of panic. “Mom, I’m waiting patiently but he still hasn’t come yet”, I cried. “How about we say a huge prayer for him.” And we did just that, with the whole family. Later that night I was restless. It took a lot for me to finally drift to sleep. One would think that I would wake up and feel a little more refreshed and feel some sort of relief, but I felt just the opposite.

I had a bad dream about dad in some odd area that I couldn’t identify but was visibly dangerous. I can’t recall what was happening, but he looked very uncomfortable and that’s when I jolted awake and scared. I decided to say a prayer about canceling bad dreams, since that was a spiritual practice that father taught me all the time whenever we’re confronted with nightmares. He believes that if we pray to God to cancel our dreams, then they won’t occur in reality. After I finished praying, I decided to go to my parents’ room again to check one more time.

To my delight, there he was and awake. “Dad!” I exclaimed “You’re finally back!” I ran to embrace him warmly and tightly. As we hugged, I noticed that he was sweating. “Why is he sweating in the middle of January”, I asked myself. My relief overpowered my curiosity, and I was just glad to have my father back. “Dad, why didn’t you call us? We were so scared! Did something happen to your flights? Was the Wi-Fi connection that bad?” “I have something to tell you, but I want to wait until your sisters wake up, ok”, he responded weakly. I took quick notice of that. Why is my dad’s voice so frail? And why are his eyes yellow? Was it the pollution in Cameroon? Does he have a cold?  Most of all, what’s so important that he has to wait and tell us? I just knew that he wasn’t going to tell us something good because I found the phrase, ‘I have something to tell you’ equivalent to the phrase that a woman tells her boyfriend that ‘We need to talk’, which is bad.