My worst nightmare....I am on my way to the Doctor..... in Kenya

I am on my way to the doctor in Kenya....every traveler's worst nightmare, it is uncomfortable enough going to the doctor in the States let alone the developing world. Flashbacks of ostentatiously hung photos in the waiting room of Passport Health where I received all $1000 worth of shots in two arms prior to leaving the Baltimore. The photos depict crude medical facilities in the developing world....all a scare tactic....right?



Two weeks prior my friend Jon flew into, the often raved about mitten state, Michigan to see what the hype was all about. The plan; northern Michigan camping for the weekend to see one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, okay I am partial. The operation; to scale massive dune bluffs overlooking the vast blue sea of lake Michigan, bike, trail run and conduct a wine and beer tour. The Traverse City area, especially Old Mission peninsula, is known for their Riesling wine production and I came to realize their micro-brewed beer.

The trip a success; beautiful beaches, active adventure, a completely random Detroit artist party in Traverse City's warehouse district including a complimentary concert by "The Hounds Below" (the ex-lead singer of the "Von Bondies"). Filled with great libations, nightly campfires and wonderful friends who are more like brothers, Jon and Brian (this story has it's own life and could fill multiple blog posts) the expedition exceeded expectations.

The culmination of our trip...T-pain karaoke all night in the Magic Stick in Detroit 'What' city, the city that moved the world. Jon and I, in our electrically altered voices, brought down the house, as we disposed our energy on the crowd to the avante garde artists 'The Black Eyed Peas'. The number "I gotta feelin'". It all had to come to end.

Fast forward five days......Through security at DTW I am prepared to depart on +20hrs of travel to Nairobi. (I omitted this part in my original blog) I noticed a wicked itch on the back of my thigh somewhere between London and Nairobi and the sensation could not be satiated no matter how hard, fast or furiously I clawed through my jeans.

Arriving at my final destination I tear off my jeans opting to scratch bare and now raw skin. A raspberry red, blotchy, bumpy patch occupies a dollar bill size spot just below my right glute. Grabbing for the Cortizone, I apply a health dollop.

The tipping point my entire night is consumed with ravenous tearing at the insatiable itch. After almost of week of the dollar bill sized patch growing to annex the entire area between my glute to the back of my knee I decided it is time, time to do the unthinkable. Find a doctor in Kenya.....

Walking in everything looks tidy, no resemblance to the pictures I have ingrained in my mind of medical facilities in the third world. There is one patient(?) sitting on the couch reading the paper. We only acknowledge the spacial occupancy of each other. The nurse promptly greets me with the typical Kenyan hospitality. I notice out of my periphery the gentleman reading the paper retreats to one of only two rooms in the stuck in the 70s cubed space. I barely get a chance to settle in when the nurse summons me and corrals me toward the door the gentleman from the couch just entered. To my surprise the man sitting on the couch reading is also the doctor.

We sit across from each other along a folding table with reading material strewn atop. As all doctor visits start he beckons my problem. I advise him that I have a serious rash on my leg that is now so uncomfortable I can't sleep. Without notice but as if I had pushed a button he stands up and makes his way around the table. He requests that I show him the rash as he peers down towards the lower part of my lower extremities. My response "no doc I got to drop trow".

In preparation of my declaration he closes the blinds of a large bay window. Dropping my pants I turn my back to him...then to my shock all I hear is "WOOOOOOOO". I am thinking to myself is it that bad. Approaching he uses his two index fingers as prods to rile the now extremely supple and rosy red area. He asks "does it hurt". My response "No but it itches like heck". He chuckles and offers me the prognosis, contact dermatitis, most likely from poison ivy I had managed to collect during our camping trip two weeks prior. He then reads me my prescription "antihistamine blocker once a day and a much stronger topical steroid twice a day." Should do the trick.

Ten minutes later and 1800Ksh (~$23USD) lighter I leave the clinic with a small paper bag filled with the rations needed to survive. Fortunately, my client site is a self sufficient campus and they have their own personal doctor. A pleasant experience considering my usual interaction with the health care system. Although as I would soon find out this was only the first of a series of unfortunate events........