A bag of doritos

Tim has malaria (well, by the time of this posting Tim had malaria). I wish this was a joke or our way of kidding about being stalled on his research, but it's not. It's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth- so help me.

After a couple of bouts of watery diarrhea, an episode of watery vomit, and a steadily increasing temperature we took him to the local clinic where he was diagnosed, in just 15 minutes. The doctor started him on an IV drip of quinine and other fluids and told us that he would not be going home that night.

While Tim rested I took Eleanor home to feed and bathe and put to bed before returning to the clinic. When I walked into our apartment, I promptly burst into tears and called my mom- because that's what you do when you don't know what else to do. The really scary part for me was not the fact that I had left Tim lying in a clinic room with a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, no screens on the windows, no bug net over the bed, and nurses and doctors that did not wear gloves, or the fact that his temperature was steadily increasing, or the fact that I couldn't be with him that night. The really scary part was that he had malaria. And if he could get it then so could Eleanor. I shudder.

I knew those plasmodium had little chance, however, when he called asking for some essentials to get him through the night: a book and headlamp, earplugs, plain rice and bananas, and a bag of doritos.
-kjd