As I mentioned before, these updates will be in no particular order, as this details something that happened nearly 8 months ago, which means it was and still is quite memorable.
My first impressions of site were that I was living in a dry, fairly barren scrubland. The wind would pick up small spirals of dirt at times and whip them around just well enough so that the dust would get everywhere. There were few trees to speak of, and it hadn’t rained during the entire time I had been in
During my first month at site the rains came. They came suddenly, though with some warning, as a massive windstorm precluded them. I was still in the process of settling in to my place and getting accustomed to my schools and my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Nights were cold, so cold I would often resort to pulling my entire duvet and microfiber blanket over me when I slept.
Rain on a zinc roof is deafening; it sounds like marbles. I walked to the window and watched the sheer sheets of rain fall, illuminated at intervals by cold sparks of lightning. I had two leaks which I promptly put buckets under and put a towel under the door as rain water had begun to seep in that entry.
The next day, everything was drenched… and cold. The clear sky was replaced by gray clouds, the sunshine with drizzle that stung your cheeks. The goats and sheep had been in the kraal (corral) overnight and my host mom asked me to come help out, as several of them had gotten stuck in the newly formed mud. I donned my rain gear- pants, jacket, and Gore-Tex Hiking boots- and helped drag the hapless animals into the shelter of an entryway to the house. They were in various stages of hypothermia, some more gone than others. A lamb and a kid were among them and while we were building a fire to warm them, the lamb stopped breathing. It was incredibly sad. One minute struggling for breath, the next silent, no longer moving. Dead. My host mother took a look at the goats and realized that they were probably beyond saving, so she called an older gentleman and a young man from the village and we slaughtered the animals in a wheelbarrow.
I won’t go into a lot of details on slaughtering, but I’ll explain a bit. After hastening their deaths by cutting their throats, we let the blood drain into buckets, then it was time to skin them, which was done by cutting around the hooves and working towards the center of the body. Later on, we removed the innards, etc, but skinning takes a while and was done by two of us at a time. Skinning involved cutting the skin away from the fleshy portion, which can be quite easy in some parts, as there is just some easily cut connective tissue there, but in other areas, you need to really use the knife. While cutting through one of the not so easy sections, the knife the teenager was using slipped and he cut himself. Not too deeply, but blood did begin coming out, so I had him wash it out and used supplies from my Peace Corps Medical kit to bandage him. Then we headed back to work. I continued with skinning… and my knife slipped as well.
A cut on my hand…
Then I realized what had happened…. and time slowed down. A hazy fear started to grow. I dropped the knife and walked over to the tap to wash out the cut. I had cut myself… a teenager had also cut himself. Was it deep? I squeezed the wound, nothing, then after some more squeezing blood did come out.
Oh shoot…….
My vision clouded a bit.
Did I cut myself with the same knife the teenager had cut himself with? Was the teenager HIV positive? He looked to be about 18… oh man… no. This shouldn’t be happening. Could he be infected? Did I just infect myself by helping slaughter a goat? I made sure blood came out of the wound, made sure anything was washed away. A slight panic had set in. I bandaged my hand and then cleaned the knife, something I hadn’t done before. Why had I not cleaned it after the last accident? Was it even the same knife? Why can’t I remember the knife he was using? Please… let it be a different knife…
I knew the possibility of me being infected were slim. First the teenager had to be HIV positive, then I had to have been using the same knife, the virus had to stay alive for the minutes between our cuts, fairly unlikely given the fact that we were cutting the skin away at that time, and I had to have cut myself deeply enough to transfer the virus from the knife.
The chance was really slim… but there was still a chance… Shoot. An irrational fear set in. Despite this, after bandaging myself, I decided to continue helping out. After we finished skinning the goats, I made sure to ask several times if the teenager knew his HIV status. At first he didn’t understand. A little more panic… he didn’t know? Then he told me no… he was negative. Again I asked, just to make sure.. my SeTswana and his English exacerbating the situation. Yes, he seemed to understand.. he was negative, but was he? He probably hadn’t been tested. In stead of calming me, my panic just stayed at the same level it had been before.
How could I have been this careless? I thought again at the chance of me being infected. Slim to none, but if it was slim… could it have happened? I had been so careful all along… one slip-up. I knew what HIV would bring. I had studied the virus in Immunology, and some of my other science classes at Rice…. I would tell Julie, my girlfriend, and end the romantic relationship- our relationship had been rough enough during these months of separation, she had never wanted me to go to Africa and it would be my own fault, it would be over; I would have another 20-30 years to live, and probably devote myself to others similarly infected. That one instant could change everything.
Was I going to be another statistic?
I knew if I was going to do Post Exposure Prophylaxis (medicines to decrease your chance of infection after exposure) I would need to begin taking them within 72 hours in order for them to be effective. The clock was ticking. I went to the schools and worked, observing teachers and the way the school was set up, seeing how things did and didn’t get done. The fears had been allayed by my reexamination of what had happened, but I wanted to make sure. I was fine, but in matters like this, just to be extra careful, I wanted a professional opinion.
I came home… and though I knew I was being irrational of my fear of being infected, I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer. I explained the situation. She informed me that the chances of me being infected were slim (um… thanks) because the virus doesn’t survive very long outside of the body. How long? She didn’t know the exact answer but thought it was in the range of tens of seconds. I asked her if I should take Post Exposure Prophylaxis… she said it was up to me, but that she wouldn’t recommend it as chance of side effects (liver-damage) far outweighed the chance that I was infected. Still I wasn’t completely reassured. I emailed Anita, my sister, who is studying to be a doctor. The email came back the next day and allayed some of my fears. What the Peace Corps Medical Officer had told me was true. I should not be afraid of being infected. All the ifs, made it seem incredibly unlikely that the virus was transferred, if he had it at all. And beyond that, the virus doesn’t survive outside the body for long at all.
Ok, I wasn’t infected, but had tasted the fear associated with a possible infection. Though it was a relief to be reassured, I was angry at myself for being in that situation. I should have known better, after all, I studied the virus, and knew how to handle myself around blood. I decided against telling my parents and friends, as it might actually make them more afraid for me. If I had actually been at risk, though, I would have told them, it would be unfair to keep that from them. But just to tell them to make them worried, that is ridiculous.
I bought gloves to use the next time I slaughtered an animal.
Thanks again to Julie for correcting my abysmal grammar. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment