November he said, "GREAT! That means you can swim with our team on the
7th. Cool!" I laughed. He must be joking. First, Khalid swims on the
Tanzanian national team and swam in Beijing. He's an international
athlete that trains twice a day. I'm a recreational swimmer, dabbling
in multiple sports for fun. I'm not a bad swimmer, but even in my swim
club in Vancouver I'm somewhere on the lower middle of the team, and
that's when I am training regularly. Where I live in northern Uganda
there isn't any water, and I think I have maybe swam about a half a
dozen times in the past 3months.
When I arrived in Dar, Khalid was waiting at the bus stop, full of
smiles and reminding me of the competition. Gulp. I didn't really have
an excuse, apart from the fact I had only been in a pool a couple of
times over the past few months. That wasn't a good enough excuse
though for him.
A few days later, I headed off to Zanzibar with my friends, planning
on returning to Dar in a few days to compete. It was set, I would fly
in on Friday and swim the meet on Saturday. It kinda made me feel like
a professional athlete or something.
On Zanzibar, I found the local navy special forces swim team
practicing in the bay and I asked if I could train with them. They all
knew Khalid and were more than happy to have one of his swimming
buddies come and train with them. I tried to explain that I wasn't an
Olympic swimmer but somehow they kept looking at me like I was
suddenly going to turn into Michael Phelps.
On Thursday morning I went to their morning practice. The water was
warm and the sky was beautiful. We all lined up in the bay getting
ready for the warm up – a light swim across the bay between the boats
and back. As we pushed off I began to notice a stinging sensation,
kind of like bee stings. They became more intense, hitting me all over
my body. I kept swimming because everyone else was. When we stopped to
turn around I couldn't help but ask my neighbour if he felt the
stinging too. He laughed and said yes, but assured me it would be OK.
He was right. Even though I had been stung about a thousand times all
over my body (including some less than ideal places), the pain went
away when we left the jelly-fish area.
After the warm up we did some IM and then sprints. What's interesting
is that since this is all in the ocean, there is no resting time (you
are always treading water). I liked this. I felt like I was getting a
good work out.
Mid-way through the sprints I took a BIG gulp of the water. No
surprise I coughed a bunch and had to fight off a gag, nothing unusual
for a swimmer. I kept on with the practice.
During the day following, I started to notice a weird sensation coming
over me. I still can't put my finger on it. It felt like I was just
barely in my body. Nothing too serious though. I thought maybe it was
simply a reaction to the stings or the drinking the probably toxic
water (turns out a sewage outfall is near the bay).
When I went to the evening practice, I started to notice a few more
strange signs. I was feeling cold and getting chills. My ribs and side
started to ache. I noticed a bit of a headache. Hmm.
That night it hit me though. Fever, headache, vomiting, difficulty
breathing. You name it. Fortunately my friends were with me and made
me go to the hospital.
The first doctors thought maybe I "drowned," which I think must have
meant that they thought I aspirated water. The jury is still out. They
kept me in the hospital for a couple of days, pumped me with
antibiotics and let me rest. I didn't get better so my insurance
decided to evacuate me to Nairobi for more comprehensive treatment
using the Flying Doctors (that is a story in and of itself and I will
write all about the Flying Doctors in another post).
I should have been happy, thrilled actually that I would be getting
better treatment, but there is still a disturbing image I can't get
out of my head. Just before getting in the ambulance to take me to the
airport, I stopped by the doctor's room to ask him a question. His
door was closed so I began to walk away without knocking, but before I
could get far, a nurse pushed open the door and called the doctor
over. The doctor handed the breathing apparatus he was using to
resuscitate an almost dead young man over to another person and came
over to wish me well. My heart sank. I was only mildly injured and not
only was the doctor coming over to say goodbye to me, but I was the
one getting into the ambulance and being flown to Nairobi, when this
poor guy was probably going to die on that table. The inequality was
sickening. I've seldom felt so privileged in my life, and this
privilege was not comforting.
To make this long story a tiny bit shorter, I missed the swim meet. I
did get some of the best hospital care I have ever received in my life
however (Nairobi Hospital is far nicer than any hospital I have ever
been too in Canada), and I am recovering, from what, the doctors still
aren't totally sure (maybe a lung infection brought on by the
aspiration, but no one is clear as the signs pointed to multiple
issues). The problem is I still keep thinking about that boy on the
table.
The team won everything, and Khalid won best overall male swimmer with
5 golds. I couldn't help but joke with him that maybe he was lucky I
didn't swim and that this illness was a blessing in disguise. He just
laughed and told me I just have to come back and swim with him in All-
African Finals.
Gulp.
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