Prepping for Cameroon has felt much like preparing to go to
war with much of the natural world.
Apparently, there are quite a few things that can kill you in Africa. I’ve
done my fair share of traveling, but either I haven’t been to an area quite so
fraught with potential disaster before, or I bounced along in happy ignorance
during my various middle school, high school, and undergrad study abroad trips (ignorance is
highly likely). If my ever-helpful
friends and roommates tell me about one more disease that I can contract while
over there, I may spend the next few months in prison rather than
Cameroon.
In the last couple of weeks I have had to get five shots and
take typhoid pills as well as pick up my prescription for anti-malarial and
broad-spectrum antibiotics. All of
these were provided by the travel clinic where I naively went two weeks ago
thinking that all I needed was a Yellow Fever vaccine and anti-malarials. After all, in the last
year alone I’ve traveled to four countries so I figured I was mostly up to
date.
When I got to the clinic they handed me forms to fill out
with the name Alison Lungsford on the top—apparently my last name remains rather elusive over the phone. After a fight with my
insurance company over my MIA insurance card, I was ready to go.
As some of you might know, I love shots only slightly less than the diseases they protect me from, so when I found out I was getting four,
I was less than amused. This must have
shown on my face as the nurse prepped and administered the shots—two in each
arm—because after all was said and done, another nurse who had walked by
clucked kindly, “Oh sweetie, you were so brave with all those needles in your
arm!” And suddenly I felt five years
old, where it is considered bravery to get four shots. And subsequently felt less than brave as a 24
year old where a few needles are the least of my worries.
Ah, all will be well. But for now, signing off; my typhoid is acting up.
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