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Joyce Carrasco
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I found the note on my dorm door. "Call your mother". Needless to say, I was worried. My mom and I spoke once a week on Sunday evenings. It was Tuesday in the late afternoon.
The year was 1970 and I was in the last months of my college studies. More importantly, I was very focused on my acceptance to serve as a Latin American missionary with the Board of Global Ministries of the United Methodist Church. I had received my assignment to the Chilean Methodist Church in late March. Now, spring break was behind me as was my required physical for the Board to ensure that I was healthy enough to serve.
The Georgia April days were beautiful but I shivered with cold. I went to class with a coat and couldn't wait to get back to my dorm room to lie down and cover myself with a blanket.
I called my mother collect. She answered and said, "Joyce, the doctor called. You have malaria." I was stunned. Over spring break, I had been to an assigned doctor by the Board of Global Ministries for my physical. She said, "You have to come immediately." I stood at the hallway pay phone and shivered. I was unsure of what this meant, not to mention the how and why. Malaria?
The doctor saw me the afternoon I arrived in Atlanta. He reviewed with me the findings. It was at the appointment I learned that my routine blood tests caused a ruckus at the Lab. No one knew quite what they were looking at under the microscope. My slides immediately were delivered to the Center for Disease Control. Malaria was confirmed. I was interviewed by the infectious disease investigators about my recent travels. It was at that interview that the source of my disease was isolated.
I lived in Israel from 1968-1969 on Kibbutz Shaar Haamekim in northern Israel. I traveled to the Sinai Peninsula before returning to states. The disease investigator at the CDC showed me a map of locations of identified malarial areas. Being a passionate student of geography, I knew what I was looking at in minute detail. The highlighted areas were around Sharm El Sheikh. The kibbutz group that I traveled with stopped at several wadis (valleys) along the way. These were malaria-endemic areas. The piece of the puzzle was now in place.
After several additional tests to determine the type (species) of the infecting parasite, I was again interviewed about my travels in the Sinai. The wadi areas were again confirmed and a drug resistance status was determined. The medical team prescribed an immediate treatment plan.
My chills, fever and malaise had increased and I realized that it was serious. I began a prescribed treatment of chloroquine. More blood tests, nausea, chills, fever and sleepless nights were part of my recovery. All the while, I was keeping up with my final requirements for graduation having returned to campus and still in treatment. My love of photography found me in the darkroom, nauseous and cold but developing my prized black and white photos. Finally, by the end of May, I was declared malaria free. I was spent but energized for my impending missionary orientation and September departure for Chile.
Today, 655,000 lives are lost to malaria. 85% are children. Every 60 seconds a child dies of malaria. Can we imagine no malaria? Can we put our faith in prompt and decisive action? Are we willing to dream the impossible? The 655,000 lives lost annually to malaria do not have the medical care afforded me. I am in a minority of Americans who have contracted the disease. My story pales to the thousands who have little to no alternative.
At the 2013 Annual Conference Northern Illinois committed to raise at least $1,000,000 and save 10,000 lives, through pledges and donations by April 25, 2014 (World Malaria Day). Every $100 saves a life, and can help end death and suffering caused by malaria. Imagine No Malaria is an extraordinary effort to eliminate death and suffering from malaria in Africa by 2015. Will you join me in standing up with prompt, deliberate and decisive action to help save 10,000 lives?
~Remembrance by Joyce Carrasco
Give today at www.umcnic.org/imaginenomalaria
