Lump

Image 1: Alien, where those creatures grow inside living human beings until they are mature enough to explode out of their cocoon’s stomach. Only, this would be my neck.

Now, that sounds very melodramatic, but Laurie Newman Osher will attest to a little episode in Peru in which a Bott Fly laid eggs in the pores of her skin, resulting in these large, white worms growing sub-cutaneously to her significant discomfort. They were finally coaxed out by a gentleman who came to our house, smoked possibly two packs of cigarettes in a row, collected all that nicotine from his breathe in a handkerchief and applied it to Laurie’s skin. Denied oxygen, these monstrous worms made their way to the surface, where they were speared and extracted. Yikes.

Image 2: Cancer, the voracious, terminal-within-weeks kind that snatches its helpless victims with barely time to say good-bye. All this radiation: In Ecker, the sun, the satellite phone…the poetry of it is irresistible: hapless victim realizes life-long dream to cross Sahara Desert only to die in the arms of…well, who know? Hollywood would find some beautiful Tuareg who had hoped I would be her ticket to a better life, I’m sure. Wolf Gaudlitz would probably have some thoughts…

OK, cancer just seems a little too awful to consider, and perhaps rather unlikely: this thing has become a raging nightmare in only 4-5 days.

Image 3: Environmental Factors. The glands in my neck are stressed beyond endurance due to all the banned insecticides and herbicides American companies dumped on the African market. Every meal I eat further throws me into the chemical soup, until finally my thyroids swell up like balloons. It isn’t the old lump on my neck but the glands behind it that are the issue…

This one doesn’t sound too bad. I leave Tamanrasset, my kidneys and liver perform some internal clean-up, and within days I’m back to my old self. 50 or 60 years from now I get cancer from all those banned substances, but I’m old and grouchy by then and good riddance.

Image 4: Infection: Virulent and voracious bacterioids rush through my bloodstream, replicating like bunnies. My white blood cells are thoroughly overwhelmed, defenseless against an enemy they have never seen before. On the outside I look normal, but I am only a shell of my former self. Inside, all is putrefaction. Starting at my neck, my cells slowly absorb the monstrous invaders, which then suck at the mitochondria and liquefy the nuclei until my cells shrivel and die. Finally, as I am walking down the street one day, I implode in a rush of liquid. Bystanders find only a puddle amid the clothes, bones and teeth on the sidewalk.

I like this one the best. Some antibiotics are all it takes, the lump disappears in a week and I’m left awed at the sagacity of the local doctor and his healing touch.

The hour isn’t up, but I’m making myself anxious and I call the Paris office again. “Please call back in a half hour, we need to call our Algier office”.

I managed to load some Bob Marley on my video camera/MP3 player in Ghardaia, but that’s all I have. It just isn’t the happiest music…

I call Wolf Gaudlitz to see if he’s any closer to Tamanrasset, and to confirm that he has my bike, but he’s out of cell service range. I play chess for an hour against Boris Spasski, who thrashes me as always. Actually I usually win, but only by taking back all my bad moves.

I call again and get the names of two doctors here in Tamanrasset: a surgeon and a generalist, both of whom I’m told work out of the hospital here. I’m not quite ready for the surgeon’s point of view, so I call the generalist and a nice guy on the phone tells me to grab a taxi and come on by. Dromadaire’s proprietor catches me on the way out, offers me a ride and delivers me to the hospital, where I’m told there’s been a misunderstanding: I need to go to the doctor’s private “cabinet” downtown next to the gynecological clinic. I’m starting to wonder if I misunderstood “gynecologist” for “generalist” on the phone.

Anyway, I get some general directions and guess my way to the office on foot, where I’m greeted by a gentleman of about my age in slacks and a pullover sweater who immediately invites me into his office and puts me at ease. Dr. O asks some general questions and then has me lie down while he looks at the inflamed ping-pong ball on my neck (I told Polly it was the size of a golf ball, but that was just to get some extra sympathy). He takes an ultrasonic device to my neck (he must be a gynecologist!!!), inspects from all angles to my immense discomfort, and decides that it is simply a small infection. No hidden succubus, no cancerous tumor, and who knows about the environmental factors. He asks me if I am allergic to anything (no), whether I mind injections (love ‘em), and whether I can help him find work in the US (NO, NO, NO, I TOTALLY MADE THAT UP), and prescribed me 4 items which I picked up this morning after getting some money out of the bank.

I got back to Dromadaire after the appointment, called Polly with the update, and heard that Dr. L had suggested a similar course of treatment sight unseen, adding hot compresses as an additional measure. I realize suddenly that this was stressful by the immense feeling of relief I feel.

Lakhdar stops in later with his friend Tassa and we tour Tamanrasset together, stopping for tea along the way. Then Faysel says hi after dinner and suddenly I feel like I live here.

written by  roel krabbendam on February 6, 2007 from Tamanrasset, Algeria
from the travel blog: Harmattan
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It doesn't sound half bad...the living there part. I am wondering how you are feeling leaving now that you have become so settled in...and with so many friends. How is your golf game - with your golf ball? Are you feeling better?

written by  p on February 7, 2007

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writing from Agadez, Niger now: the golf ball is getting bigger and im mildly concerned...saw another doctor today and got another shot of antibiotic in the a__...hope it helps.

written by  roel krabbendam on February 12, 2007

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tell me you didnt alert the western world to a pimple?

written by  franklin on February 12, 2007

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