Thanksgiving at Nairobi Hospital

It started after a morning of teaching. I sat down for some lunch and as I sat there, I could feel something unusual going on with my heart. I could feel it pounding in my chest. I checked my pulse and not only was it going faster than usual, it was also skipping beats. “Bummer”, I thought, “not again!” I had experienced heart arrhythmia four times before (actually, atrial fibrillation). Once it had gone back into rhythm on its own, the other times I had needed to be inverted (heart stopped and then started again with an electric shock). The heart didn’t seem to be skipping around as much this time as it had before. It just seemed to be skipping some beats. I thought, “Maybe if I just rest, it will calm down.” I knew it was probably wishful thinking, but last time had involved a month and a half of incapacity along with a memorable but highly unsatisfactory stay in a Ugandan hospital highlighted by an unsuccessful cardiovertion attempt, part of which I was concious for. All of this was followed by being life-flighted down to South Africa to be cardioverted again, this time successfully. So now you know where the “Bummer, not again,” comes from and why I was hoping things would correct themselves. But by morning it was clear that the heart was not going to fix itself. The pulse had slowed down to closer to normal but it was still skipping beats. I wasn’t feeling as bad as I had in the past but I knew I would need some help. I called my cardiologist who was in Nairobi. I had been followed by him ever since the last episode two years earlier. The receptionist would not let me talk to the doctor but told me I would need to make an appointment and come in. I tried to explain that I lived in a different country and it would take me hours of travel to get there. I wanted to know if there were something I should be doing now. She told me I need to make an appointment. So I made an appointment. The next day was earliest appointment I could get, which was just as well as it would take me that long to get there anyway. The choice was between flying and taking the bus. We had tried driving twice and our van had broken down both times, so driving was out. It is just not reliable for longhaul trips or anything with hills and mountains. The flight itself would only be about an hour and a half, but it would take at least four hours to get to the airport, then there would be standing in line getting tickets, going through security and customs and travel from the airport in Kenya. All-told it would take somewhere around nine hours of travel to fly with a lot of activity and stress. The bus would take about 12 hours but most of that I would just be sitting. Plus the bus would be ten times cheaper, so the bus it was. My wonderful wife lined up for our boys to stay at some friends and arranged for bus tickets on the night bus for us, along with a lot of last-minute details. Some Ugandan friends dropped us off at the bus station where we were told the bus would be there any minute. Our bus station consisted of two waiting room type chairs placed at the side of the road. We had a lot of stares at the two white people sitting at night by the side of the road in these nice chairs. We sat there for about an hour waiting for the bus, which was okay, until it started to rain. But eventually the bus did make it and we got going. My seat was fairly roomy and not too uncomfortable but Michelle was stuck by a fellow with a lot of bags that were stuck where her feet was supposed to be. The back of the seat in front of her kept bagging into her knees and her seat back was broke so if she leaned back on it, it would fall back into the lap of the fellow behind. Fortunately it was just a short bus ride, 12 hours or so. So off we went, bumping along. We were both able to get some sleep even if only intermittently. At first I hadn’t been feeling that bad, but by the time we were getting close to Nairobi, my chest was beginning to feel very tight and the pain was increasing. It was morning when we got off the bus in the middle of bustling Nairobi. Michelle grabbed the bags (Did I mention I had a wonderful wife) and we found a taxi. We went and got some food then to a guest house where we could get about an hour of rest before it was time for the doctor's appointment. The rest helped, so I was able to make it up the stairs to the doctor’s office by taking it slow. The doctor looked me over and told me sure enough I had a problem. He told me they could cardiovert me but first they would need to know there were no blood clots in my heart or it could kill me. He gave me two options. I could take some drugs and wait a month. Or they could do a procedure of putting some kind of scope down my throat to see if there were any clots and if not, go ahead and cardiovert me then. Last time, under the care of a doctor in Uganda, I had only had option A, and it had left me virtually bed ridden for more than a month, so this time I jumped at option B. The procedure was lined up for the next day, Thanksgiving. While we had been looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with friends, all the excitement had been put out of my mind. So the next morning as they were preparing me for the procedure (sliding a tube with a scope on it down my throat), I was surprised when the doctor wished me a “Happy Thanksgiving.” I thought, “This isn’t what I had envisioned putting down my throat on Thanksgiving, but oh well.” I was concious for the first part of them putting the tube down my throat (for some reason they needed me awake), but while I felt a little panicky at first it wasn’t too bad. And I don’t really remember much beyond feeling the start of it going down. I woke up in a different bed and was told that there had been no clots so they would now do the cardioversion. The doctor told me to count backwards from 100. I can remember getting to 28, and then I was waking up again and my heart was back to beating as before. A few hours later I was able to leave the hospital. During this time I was able to just rest, but Michelle was kept busy with a lot of running around. We had brought our credit card and debit card and had even called the credit card company in advance. But because of credit card fraud that had been going on in Kenya, they would not authorize the card. To get out of the hospital, we would have to pay our bill in full so Michelle was forced to find a way to get the money transferred from our bank in Uganda over to Kenya. Fortunately, a good friend back in Uganda was willing to give up part of his Thanksgiving to help us out. After a lot of stress and headache, Michelle was able to get it taken care of so I could leave the hospital. (Did I mention I have a wonderful wife?) We got out and stayed again at a guest house and were able the next day to catch a ride up to the school where Janae and Josh attended. As it turned out, they were just heading into Christmas break and were preparing to catch a bus ride back to Uganda the next morning. We were able to get a ride on the same bus. This bus ride took 15 hours but finally we were back home. Getting back to normal would still take about a week, but all-in-all, I was very thankful for so many things.