Sick Bay

Day 0: run, shake, get burned (exactly what NOT to do)

It was a frigid Monday morning in Kedougou, and I woke up freezing. As I frustratingly untangled myself from my mosquito net around my bed and stepped onto the cold concrete floor of my hut, my first thought was to make a nice cup of hot coffee. I turned on the gas stove to boil the water and proceeded to put on a wrap skirt and a matching shirt. There happened to be a lot on my mind that morning, I had a visitor staying in my backyard, and later that week I needed to travel across the country to Thies for two weeks of service training. As these thoughts were burning through my mind, I was unknowingly standing right next to my gas stove. A warm sensation was felt near my right leg, and I looked down to realize that my wrap skirt caught fire.

I tried shaking it off, but it didn’t budge, so I turned off the gas stove and ran outside. The fire grew in a span of two fleeting seconds and crawled up my right thigh. I could feel my flesh getting roasted, and the skirt wasn’t coming off! Thankfully the visitor staying in his tent in my backyard heard me screaming and ripped it off right before the fire reached my torso. As he frantically stomped on the ball of fire that was skirt, I ran inside my hut hot with adrenaline and disbelief. My thigh was stinging.

I looked down to see that the skin was charred and falling off. Had no clue about the severity of it though.

The women in my village who heard me screaming came to my hut to say some Mandinke prayers to comfort me later that morning. However, the rest of that day was anxiety-ridden and difficult. I didn’t know how I was going to make it to service training, and the burn on my leg was leaking a lot of fluids.  I called the Peace Corps medical unit and they decided to transport me across the country to see how bad it was; a tough two-day journey from the deep bush of Kedougou to Dakar! I thought they might have been over-reacting…

I arrived in Dakar at 9 o’clock at night the next day, and a Peace Corps doctor was waiting for me anxiously in her office. The burn was throbbing and a little infected at that point. She looked at it and turned to me and asked me if I was Christian. I said yes, so she turned on some Bible music to calm me (and herself).

She made it clear that cleaning it was going to be excruciatingly painful and offered me the most powerful pain killer they had in stock. The burn was diagnosed as a deep second-degree burn that engulfed the entirety of my right thigh, about five percent of my body. I asked her if I can make it to my training in Theis, she laughed and firmly said “no.”

The next day, all four Peace Corps doctors wanted to see the burn. One said it was worst burn he’s ever seen on a Peace Corps volunteer, and another one said that I’m in for a long road to recovery. I still thought they were over-reacting.

Week 1: long road to recovery

Coming from the bush in one of the poorest regions in Senegal to the capital was exciting. I had access to “toubab” (white people) food, there were beaches in every direction, and every day I could get my cappuccino-with-croissant breakfast fix. I believed that I would be only treated for this burn for two weeks MAX and then go to service training to be with the rest of my peers. But dressing changes were painful because the gauze would stick to the raw wound, and it would sting anytime something touched it. All the nerves were intact and loved to scream.

Nevertheless, I spent the week masking the pain with pain killers and believing that it will heal quickly.

After week 1, the burn wasn’t healing quickly at all and the doctors said that I’ll be in “sick bay” for an indefinite amount of time. My grief set in, as I started to realize the severity of the burn. This meant that I’ll be missing service training, putting me behind the rest of my peers.

Week 2 and 3: dondin-dondin    

I was getting too comfortable in Dakar, and I was overcome with guilt and anxiety for missing training and being out of my site. Usually I would deal with this kind of stress by going for a run, but I substituted that with walking around Dakar a lot (too much, actually). The burn was healing too slowly, the dressing changes were still painful, and the wound still leaked plenty of fluids. This burn was a literal definition of “dondin-dondin” (little by little) that was scorched onto my skin.

This week, some of my peers from service training started funneling into “sick bay” for rolled ankles, allergic reactions, and appendicitis. Two medi-vacs occurred, which included a friend of mine (picture on the left). As she was getting ready to head home, I showed her some of Dakar. Walked a whopping six miles that day!

A day after she left though, the doctor noticed that the burn got infected again and stated that it may be because I’m walking around town too much. So, she decided to take me to the hospital and refer me to a burn specialist…apparently the best in Senegal. He looked at it, shrugged it off, and said that he can heal the thing in a week.

Three Senegalese men proceeded to aggressively clean the wound. It felt like they were scraping the infection off. I was screaming and crying, and the only thing they would say to calm me was “it’s finished,” but then proceed to clean it. When they actually finished, I embarrassingly crawled off of the bed and noticed the cleaning lady outside staring at me with concern.

Right now: day 20

It’s been three days since I started seeing the burn specialist, and they just did another dressing today. It was still painful, but bearable. They looked hopeful that it’ll heal by next week.

Writing this down is helping me realize how much of a bitch a burn wound can be, but it is helping me be thankful for what I have and what has happened.

If it wasn’t for that visitor staying with me, the burn would’ve been ten-times worse.

If it wasn’t for that Peace Corps doctor sending me to Dakar, it would’ve gotten infected in Kedougou.

If it wasn’t for those aggressive Senegalese doctors cleaning my wound, it wouldn’t have been on the right track to healing.

This wound seared on me is also teaching me a valuable lesson about patience and acceptance. I have no control over what happens next with this thing, but all I know is that it’ll take its sweet time…just like the experience of being a Peace Corps volunteer! Dondin-dondin.