Hospitality in the Hospital

Kathy Randall: Kisumu, Kenya
Friday a week ago was not my best day in Kenya. It began well, a phone
call for a birthday, but when I hung up I had to make a choo stop. And
I realized I was unwell. I was supposed to be preaching again, like
the previous day, but I quickly realized that I could not do that. I
could barely stand. I could not look at food. Not a good condition to
have anywhere, but especially on a day when you are supposed to be
moving. I had my things packed, living out of a suitcase facilitates
easy packing. And my host and organizer arrived, Ibrahim, a great
resource for Umoja, to bring me and my things to the pastor's house,
originally so my luggage could wait there while I was preaching at the
community group, now just so I could await the next plan. Thankfully,
the pastor had the wisdom to but me in a room away from the bustle of
the house, and I laid there, my temperature rising, strength leaving,
until Ibrahim arrived with a Sprite, and the drive to call our
director, Joseph, and say that I needed to go to the hospital.
I knew I didn't need to go. I never go to the hospital. But then he
began to tell me the symptoms of malaria, and my temperature was at
least two degrees above normal, and I thought that it would not be a
bad idea. Just in case.
First, though, I had to get to my new homestay. This involved Ibrahim
and a helper to carry my luggage. I may have packed relatively
lightly, but I could not have carried my things this day. We went to
the main road, intending to pick a Matatu, but luckily someone was
leaving the compound and going our direction, and had three seats
open. So we were able to be dropped at Daraja Mbili (literally: two
bridges. Only one remains, but the name hasn't changed). We then had
to walk up the hill and up to the grail centre. Only by force of drive
was I able to make this walk, it is either a quarter or a half of a
kilometer, the signs say both, but it was enough to wear me out
completely.
Finally, Charles, one of the pastors on our board, arrived, and
proceeded to take me into the hospital in Kisumu. The Aga Khan is the
private hospital run by the Islamic foundation in the area, and is the
best hospital in Kisumu. In two hours, I saw a doctor, had labs drawn,
was given a place to lie down because they didn't want me to faint on
them, my BP was 100/36, received the lab results from the doctor,
prescriptions, and had them filled. It was approximately from the
beginning to the end of the second USA world cup game. I left, $42
poorer, but in possession of drugs for my amoebas and bacteria
invading my body, and some pain pills to ease the back spasms I'd been
having for the past three days. Not bad, not bad. I drank water and
ate the next day. And now I am all better.