32 Maggots Delivered via C-Section!!

Penned June 6, 2011, Monday, 8:00 pm

Sounds like a headline out of the National Inquirer, but alas...no.  Welcome to my world.  6 days ago I noticed multiple “bug bites” around my torso.  They were itchy and in an odd location, but I didn’t pay them much attention as we were in the middle of moving to our new house.  However, over the next 4 days, more appeared and they gradually grew in size and tenderness.  I got out my Village Medical Manual from the bush medicine class that Jason and I took last summer.  All my symptoms fit with a diagnosis of Cutaneous Myiasis, except that multiple people had told us it doesn’t occur in the Kitale area.  

Myiasis occurs when a tumbu fly lays eggs in damp laundry hanging outside on the clothesline.  If the laundry is not ironed, the eggs survive and then hatch when the clothes are worn.  The larvae then burrow into your body and develop into maggots there.  Apparently this rogue Mother Fly chose my shirt and some of my “unmentionables” as a suitable place to lay her eggs.  I can now say from personal experience that having maggots in your body feels like tiny razors twisting around as they bore into and gnaw away at your flesh.  Nothing like a little All Natural Liposuction to remind you that you are in a developing country, just in case you get too comfortable and forget.  

We looked at the CDC website and read that sometimes you can “coax” them out by putting butter or raw bacon over the entry hole.  So, last night I slept covered in butter, an interesting experience in itself.  Sadly, this did not work so now I am in a hospital in Eldoret, 2 hours from home, waiting for surgical removal of them all in the morning.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was sent to a dermatologist.  She asked what was wrong, so I told her I thought I had myiasis.  She asked, “What is that?”  When I explained, she said, “I’ve never even heard of that.  You should not do so much reading to give yourself such ideas.”  I think that is the point where I broke down sobbing.  Jason made a few more phone calls and we found another doctor that we thought could help me.  We waited 3 hours to see her only to discover that she is a gynecologist!  I guess all the round bellies in the waiting area should have tipped us off.  And I guess we need to practice our Swahili. 

Shortly after that, Jason was able to find a surgeon who would see me.  He took one look at my red, lumpy back and confirmed the diagnosis.  He had me immediately admitted and gave me antibiotics and a (semi-effective) pain killer.  He was unable to find an available anesthesiologist for tonight, so my surgery to remove all these suckers is scheduled for the morning.  Jason is at a hotel for the night, and I am in a private hospital room trying to focus on the things I am thankful for.   

I am thankful for Dr. Perklea, the surgeon, who doesn’t just think I am a crazy mzungu makin’ stuff up.  

I am thankful for anesthesia because I’m a wimp and I don’t think I could handle the removal with just a local.  

I am thankful for the wonderful ladies who taught us so much at our bush medicine class:  Becky Overlin, Sandy Sjogren, and Dottie Tankersly. 

I am thankful for my husband who has been an amazing advocate for me, and who still loves me even though “with maggots and all” was not specifically mentioned in our wedding vows.  

I am thankful that my kids have not gotten this. 

I am thankful I have money so I could hire two ladies to come to my house and iron EVERY piece of clothing, sheets, towels, etc. that we own.  

I’m thankful for our friends, the Biemecks, who are caring for our children while we are away.  

I’m thankful that we can pay for my treatment because we’ve heard that if you don’t pay your hospital bills in Kenya, they throw you in jail.  

I’m thankful that this is not a life-threatening situation. 

I’m thankful that we now know how to prevent this in the future (guess we’ll be finding money in the budget to hire a house helper after all, to do all the ironing!).  

I’m thankful that the hospital didn’t serve ugali and sukuma for dinner, because if surgery doesn’t go well tomorrow, that would be a bummer of a last meal!  (Instead, I got mashed potatoes with hamburger gravy, which was quite tasty.  And apparently the hospital is trying to prevent goiter in their patients because they brought me a cup full of salt to season my already over-salted meal).  

I’m thankful for the many prayers that have gone up on my behalf.  

And mostly, I’m thankful for my Heavenly Father, the Great Physician, who hears those prayers and heals us, outside and in.  

Epilogue:  Penned June 7, 2011, Tuesday, 4:00 pm

I’m writing this maggot-free!  

The last few hours before surgery were the worst.  The pain upped about 10 notches from the previous day, as though the little monsters knew they were about to die, so began viciously eating me alive in order to save themselves.  It felt like someone was repeatedly jabbing me with a Makita drill.  I survived with Jason holding my hand, praying over me, and by thanking God for everything I could possibly think of.  It’s a good thing I wasn’t born a Masai Warrior, as my mother would have had to club me over the head for bringing shame upon the family with all my wailing.  Finally, at 11:00 a.m., they took me in for surgery.  The surgeon apologized it was so late, but they had just finished removing a large goiter from a man who obviously hadn’t eaten enough hospital food.  

It took the surgeon two and a half hours to remove 32 maggots, and happily I don’t remember any of it.  The surgeon presented me with a vial of the largest critters as a Kenyan souvenir.  An experience I’d rather forget, thank you very much, but I’ll take the vial home to show Ethan.  To be honest, they were a little disappointing in size for all the pain they caused.  

As much as I'd like to forget this whole experience, there is one memory I will forever cherish.  At one point, in the middle of the worst of the pain, as I was thanking God that this hadn't happened to one of my children, I realized that this is what the Fruit of the Spirit is all about.  My circumstances did not dictate joyfulness or thankfulness, yet I had both.  I was given just a small glimpse of what Paul experienced in prison when he realized he had learned to be content in all circumstances and that he could do "all things through Christ who gave him the strength he needed."  That glimpse was a gift, a moment of direct communion with God, of resting in His presence, and a gift I wouldn't trade for anything.