Crash and Burn

This is Sam's friend who visits every day to smack her head against the window. That's a pretty fit analogy for the past week, which has been one of the toughest in a very long time. Currently having an awful time of it. This is going to be a long, therapeutic unload.

And it's worse, because it started in such a lovely place. Ice-cream-and-apple-pie-on-the-beach lovely.

Did some editing by the water's edge whilst Sam was at work. Admired the wildlife.

Hadadas, so named because they make an insanely loud hadada hadada call.
Technically an ibis.

 

(panoramic, click to enlarge)

So, things on the plantation were going well. Until they weren't.

Had such a lovely night out a week last Tuesday at Serena. Really nice meal, snuggley and happy.

Woke up the next day to a phone call from the vet, saying they'd lost Gizmo. Literally, not euphemistically. The vet arrived in the morning to find his cage open. The door to an adjoining bathroom was also open, and the mosquito netting around the window was torn. So, looks like he made an escape. I'd dropped him off there before going to Gisenyi because he had an infected wound on his leg that just wasn't clearing. He was fighting me when I tried to tend to it, so I thought I'd leave him with the professionals whilst I was away for a few days and pick him up on the way back.

Not to be.

If you live in Rwanda, please take a photo of this picture and WhatsApp to anyone you know in the Niboye area of Kicukiro. Extra points for reaching local security guards.

Well, fuck, I thought. What a couple of weeks:

1. Malaria
2. Car crash
3. Lost my cat

Not great, but I was feeling pragmatic about it. Couldn't get mad at the vet because she's a friend and was also distraught about it. Nothing like this has ever happened there before. Trust Gizmo to be the first.

Over breakfast, I started a discussion about when I should head back to Kigali. Sam was leaving for India for a month and I thought he might need a couple of days undistracted to pack. Agreed the next day would be okay.

And that's when the trouble started. I began to have big, dark thoughts. This world of sadness descended and continued to build. By the time he came back for lunch, I was sobbing uncontrollably. Absolute mess and incapable of saying why.

And yes, I know, malaria, car crash, cat - I know. But this was out of the ball park, and the thoughts I was having were all about fears for the future and personal insecurities. Wasn't having flashbacks to the crash or thinking about my cat. It was a full-on depressive meltdown.

Think Sam was a little bit stunned by this, and headed back to work with the suggestion of watching a movie later.

At which point, I did something monumentally silly.

I packed my bags, walked out of the gate and hailed the next bus back to Kigali.

When I feel extremely sick or extremely drunk, I have a homing instinct that would put most pigeons to shame. I just get up and walk out of places. I have to be on the move. Sitting on a bus is one of the most cathartic things when you're emotionally fucked, because you're surrounded by people but no one asks you to explain anything. You can just sit there and watch the world go past.

By the time I reached Kigali, it was dark and I didn't feel any better, but I needed to be in my own bed, in my own house, alone. Still, I really should have told him I was going and not put my phone on aeroplane mode. That was undeniably shitty, but I was in no state to cope.

Except for one brief trip to the vet on a futile search for Gizmo, I spent the next four days in bed sobbing my heart out and aching like a fucker. By the time I realised it wasn't going to stop, it was the weekend, and the International Clinic isn't open on weekends, so I had to wait until Monday. I didn't feel too certain about going to my local doctor in such an emotional state, because I wasn't sure how they would view a tearful mzungu. Traditionally, you're not supposed to cry, and I've felt bad in the past undergoing burn treatment when I've cried loud enough for people to hear. A lot has changed over the past few years, but I thought perhaps I'd fair better at the Belgian Embassy. It's the go-to for many expats.

So, round one. International Clinic, Monday morning.

I turned up hardly able to string a sentence together, I was crying so much.

The doctor checked my blood pressure, heart rate and glands, and took some blood samples for overnight analysis. I did say, 'I'm not sure if I need a head doctor or a body doctor,' and when she learned I had a history of mental health in my youth, she told me to go straight to counselling.

I went home, e-mailed my friend (who runs the counselling centre) and enquired, but decided to hold off for the blood tests.

That night, I had a fever of 38.1, and extreme shivers and aches. Didn't get to sleep until 4 a.m., with the aid of paracetamol. I'd had aches before - like flu - but until then I was still managing a full eight hours' sleep. But I'd always wake in the morning and within two minutes be soul-tired and crying again.

The next morning, I texted the doctor to tell her about the fever and shivers, but she said the blood tests all came back clear and to give it a few days and go talk to somebody.

Wasn't certain about that. Absolutely I was depressed, but that felt like a symptom, not a cause. I know the mind can affect the body, but vice versa, and I really wanted to rule out everything else before parting with 30k to sit on a couch. Decided to drag myself to my local clinic. Which, turns out, is where I should have gone in the first place. I like it there, they know me, it's always very efficient, and the doctor was amazing.

The first clinic hadn't told me what they were testing for, and just told me 'everything came back clear.' This doctor (who I also sobbed at for the first few minutes), decided to run every test they had. From pregnancy and STDs through to blood sugar and malaria.

He also asked a lot of questions about my day-to-day life, stress levels and even my dreams - which was a new one. Pretty clued in to mental health. Quite impressed by that. But no, I don't have nightmares or anxiety dreams, I sleep well most nights, I seriously miss my cat but my friend Emmy took me driving around for an hour handing out flyers to local bars, and I wasn't crying then. I cry when I wake up in the morning and when I ache. And I ache a lot. And it comes on so suddenly, and goes on for so long. I've lived overseas a while now, had my ups and downs, but this isn't normal.

Went back in the afternoon for the results.

Again, the doctor was great. Sat down and went through all the results with me, explaining everything. Not pregnant, no STDs (always nice to know), no malaria, but I had an infection and a fasting blood sugar level of 125, which is apparently one point off diabetic.

We went over and over whether I had eaten anything that morning, and I hadn't.

I texted to ask the International Clinic what my blood sugar had been the day before, because I also hadn't eaten then, but they hadn't taken a blood sugar test so no previous data to go on. They also hadn't taken a urine test - which is how they caught the infection.

Must admit, felt a little annoyed at that point. When you've had a history of mental health problems, however long ago, it can be extremely stressful to have that brought up as the go-to issue. Like you have to prove your sanity before you're taken seriously about physical pain, in ways people who walk in without that history probably don't have to do. I can understand why, from the doctor's perspective - vital statistics seemed normal, blood tests seemed normal, patient bawling her eyes out. Case closed.

But, realistically, you can't talk away an infection or hyperglycemia, no matter how good the therapist.

Fully willing to admit that the meltdown was an accumulation of everything: malaria, crash, cat, fella leaving for a month, but not willing to admit that's the conclusive reason for the physical pain I'm in. No doubt massively added to the stress, and stress crying is a thing for me, but not at all convinced this is all in my head.

The second doctor was pretty alarmed by the sugar results, and drew me a helpful chart showing how I should be eating. 

So incredibly sweet, and if I was eating, I'd have given it a go. Easier to achieve in Rwanda with melange, which is basically a buffet containing all of these ingredients, so you could happily load your plate like that.

He gave me antibiotics for the infection and some kick-ass painkillers and told me to come back for another blood test the next day.

Oh, my gods, what amazing painkillers. I swear, within twenty minutes of dropping them, I was giggling like a lunatic. Just to have that break from the aches. And my lovely friend Maia called to talk for forty minutes whilst walking home down Oxford Street. I was in tears all over again because she was so supportive. I owe my sanity to my friends: Harris, Solvejg, Dara and Jo. They all have infinite patience and kindness. Maia was the first to get me properly laughing again. No judgement, listened to everything that had happened, even the bits I wasn't proud of, believed me when I said it was physical, and just made it all seem a lot smaller.

Back to the clinic the next day...

Human Pin Cushion

Aiming for a sugar level below 100, got 104. Score. First day I wasn't weeping, so felt like the painkillers and antibiotics were kicking in. Continuing with that course at the moment. Still occasions when my back and chest are killing me, but emotions are a little more stable. Apparently infections and inflammation can trigger mood disorders. Just feeling believed and listened to made a huge difference. Feels like I'm taking some affirmative action.

See what happens in another three days when the meds run out.

Also, my adorable friend, Harris, gets back in a few days. He's a doctor and knows me really well, so hopefully he can offer some advice if it hasn't cleared up.

Slightly worrying.
Both the antibiotics and the painkillers look pretty similar.

*

I left off there to go spend an hour looking for Gizmo. Couldn't find him. If it was any of the others, they would come running up to greet me, but Gizmo is such a shy little boy. If there's anyone in the compound, he hides and won't move until they've gone. Hopefully, that means he's still around the vet's somewhere, but I'm only guessing.

Got home. Ate. Aches kicked in like a fucking bastard (swearing helps reduce pain). Harris called when I was in the middle of a full-on sobbing session. Continued for about an hour after the call, accompanied by extreme shivers. I was already on the good painkillers, but they weren't working. Then temperature bumped up and I was warm again. Heat soothes the pain. I'd rather have a fever than chills any time.

Totally exhausted, going to bed.

It's just the continuous pain. If I knew it was flu or malaria and had some idea how long it might last, I think I'd cope better. Thought the antibiotics would have really killed it by now, but still a couple more days to go. Going to ride it out and then see where we're at once they're finished.

Harris will be here really soon and I'll be in good hands. At this point, I want to try everything to see if anything helps, so it's really good to have a medical professional on hand to say, "Uh, that's not a good idea." Pain can drive you crazy.

*

So, that's been the shit side of things. And it has been pretty shit.

Also not sure if I still have a relationship at the moment. Walking off like that was crappy, and he was hurt. We've exchanged a call and a couple of messages since, but who knows. A month is a long time. I'm just going to focus on feeling well right now. The rest can wait.

Despite all of this doom and gloom, there have been some really nice things happening, too.

Between test results, I managed to hall myself to lunch with someone I've wanted to meet for a really long time. She's a bit of a living legend in Kigali, having developed tourist maps for Kigali, Kampala and Nairobi. She also runs a social media community and website for Kigalians, which I've been helping to moderate for about a year now. 

Before her Facebook group there was one called Expats in Rwanda. A while back they decided to have a clear out of their membership to remove all Rwandans and only make it about expats, but in doing so, they removed a lot of African members who came from places like Uganda and Kenya, and were legitimately expats in Rwanda. Seemed extremely racist, so a lot of us - including me - left. She set up her group as an inclusive place for all  people living in Kigali, so I like it much more. It's now got over 8,600 members, which is a huge achievement.

She lived here for a really long time, but now she's based in Canada, so although we've exchanged the occasional e-mail, we'd never met.

Went to Kiseki, where I managed to eat everything on the right-hand side of the plate. Major step forward. Ironically, an all-you-can-eat buffet, and that was all I could eat.

Just talked for ages and shared stories. Was really nice. She's extremely talented and very driven.

Then, on one of my better days, held it together long enough to attend an interview with an organisation I'm really excited about. I'd been for an interview a couple of months back. It went really well, but then didn't hear anything, so thought maybe they didn't need me. Turns out the director just had something else to attend to. By the end of our second meeting, he made me an offer that was pretty amazing. Significantly more than I expected, and great working conditions. I'm not jumping around the room yet, because nothing is signed, but we're in the process of drawing up a contract. If it goes through, the extra income would be pretty life-changing for me.

Randomly, one of their associate partners also dropped me a line and I'm going to discuss a contract with them as well next week. 

As fate would have it, they're both working in trauma and mental health. Also got a strong emphasis on human rights, which appeals. 

So, that's really exciting and given me something to look forward to. Going to work hard on my health so that I'm able to take this on. If I can get these contracts signed by mid-November, that should also help smooth over my visa application as they're renowned organisations in the country.

Action plan for the next week:

1. Finish meds, take painkillers, return to doctor if they haven't worked.

2. Squeeze the life out of Harris when he arrives.

3. Go get me a couple of contracts and a healthy living.

4. Continue to look for Gizmo.

Right, back to bed.

Poster on Clinic Wall Warning About Ebola