While traveling in Ghana, West Africa in March 2019, I contracted a bacterial infection on my right foot. As it turned out, it was Necrotizing Fasciitis or commonly known as flesh-eating disease.
In the early morning hours of March 8th, 2019, I was on a long-distance bus from Tamale to Accra. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling feverish. My feet were swelling up. I thought it was because I was on the bus and couldn't move around for an extended period of time. When I arrived at the bus terminal in Accra, I had to remove my shoes and put on a pair of flip flops. I rested in the bus terminal for a couple of hours before walking to the guesthouse which is not far from the terminal. After checking in, I rested in the air-conditioned dorm for the whole day. I did not eat lunch or dinner. I ate nuts and biscuits that were in my bag.
The next morning the guesthouse staff came to my dorm and offered to bring me breakfast because I was too weak to even get out of the dorm. I noticed that there was a 1" diameter blister on my right foot. One of my dorm mates was an American girl who was studying medicine at the local university. She thought I had a parasite in my foot and advised me to seek medical attention soon. After taking a sip of the juice and a bite of the scrambled eggs, I vomited violently all over the floor. The ladies came back to get the tray. They were worried and called their manager. Within half an hour, I was carried out by two men to a taxi waiting outside the building. One of the men accompanied me to a nearby private hospital. I sat in a wheel chair in the hallway next to the Emergency department for nine hours before being admitted to a ward. At that time, the blister turned completely black and covered half of the surface of my right foot.
There was no air-conditioning in the 6-bed ward. The other occupants of the ward kept turning off the ceiling fan which was directly above me. I was feverish and had no water to drink for the whole day. Late that night, a nurse came by with a pair of scissors and cut open the blister. I don't think she even bothered to sterilize the scissors. Blood and lymphatic fluid came pouring out. The nurse eventually put a stainless steel pan underneath my foot after I exhausted the supply of absorbent pads. The wound was left open for hours before she came back to dress it. Then I was given antibiotics and painkillers on IV. I was able to purchase bottled water from another nurse after midnight.
In the middle of the night, I needed to pee. I rang the bell no less than five times. Nobody came. I struggled to get up, carried the IV stand and did an obstacle course to the bathroom. There were visitors sleeping on the floor. After breakfast, the technicians came by to take my blood. I protested because they were supposed to take a fasting blood sample. Apparently the technician could not tell the difference between a fasting blood sample and a regular blood sample. Swelling and skin redness continued. The pain in my leg did not cease. Drainage from the wound remained heavy.
The next day when the doctors were doing the rounds, the chief surgeon told me that my wound was caused by diabetes and being overweight. I disagreed with him, stating that though I was fat, I was never diabetic. Then he said it could be Cellulitis.
I also informed him that I was still feverish. He changed the prescription. I was not convinced that I was receiving proper care in this hospital. So I signed a waiver and got discharged from the hospital after paying the $700 CAD bill with my credit card. I returned to the guesthouse around lunchtime. The staff told me that there was no dorm bed. I had to stay in a private room.
After washing up and having something to eat, l did a lot of research online. I also frantically sent out messages to people who might be able to help me. Nobody responded except for one. My Spanish friend, who works at WHO, recommended a doctor at the University Hospital to me. But that hospital is further away. Because the AC was very strong in the private room, I had a good night of sleep. The drainage from the wound was still heavy.
The next morning I went to the Outpatient Dept. of Ridge Hospital (Accra Regional Hospital) with a small bag of toiletries. I was counting on getting at least a new dressing. Perchance, if I got admitted to the hospital, I would have the essentials with me unlike two days ago. Before a nurse would change my dressing, I needed to consult with the doctors for my first visit. I was seen by a team of three doctors after waiting for 1.5 hours.
The more senior doctor of the team said to me that I should be on aggressive antibiotics IV treatment for a week. I bargained with him, stating that I had a plane ticket to return to Canada on March 24th. He said that if I chose to wait to get treatment in Canada two weeks later, he would have to sever my right foot before I could leave the hospital that day. From then on, I knew something seriously wrong was happening with my right foot.
Unlike the private hospital, this public hospital does not accept credit cards. The cash that I had on me was only sufficient for one day of antibiotics and some painkillers. When the antibiotics ran out on March 12th, I begged the ward doctor on duty to let me have a 1-hr leave so that I could take a taxi to go to the nearest ATM which is just a couple kilometers away. He would not let me go. I was put back in bed with my right leg more elevated than the rest of my body.
The following day there was only Paracetamol in my IV. I was secretly taking the oral antibiotics that I got from the private hospital. After the second meal of the day, I was burning up and drifting in and out of consciousness. Around 10 pm, one of the two younger doctors from the Outpatient Dept. came by to check on me. I remembered telling him that I could not make it through the night. I urged him to harvest my organs as soon as possible after my demise. I wanted to give my kidneys to the young lady sleeping in the bed across the corridor. She was waiting to get a dialysis session. Her brother had been scrambling to raise enough funds for one dialysis session.
The next morning I woke up still feeling weak but somehow the redness and swelling remained at the knee level for my right leg. The skin on my right calf became shiny. Around 1 pm, the young doctor came back with a box of antibiotics, painkillers and dressing supplies. He told me that he arranged for an account with the Hospital Finance Dept. for me, and he went to the pharmacy to pick up the supplies for me after duty. I could almost kiss him except that I was too weak to even sit up in the bed.
The antibiotic treatment continued for another four days. Dr. Richard would come by to see me everyday. Drainage remained heavy but the dressing was only changed every other day because very few nurses know how to change dressings. They would come around to take body temperature and blood pressure every 4 hours and changed the IV bags. Fortunately, the ward has central air-conditioning. I did not have to give myself sponge baths daily. Though the bed sheets were badly stained with the drainage from my wound, they only got changed on the fourth day. But there were no new sheets. I was sleeping on a vinyl surface for two more days before I signed a waiver and got myself discharged from the hospital.
After the IV tubes were removed from my arm, another doctor offered to drive me to the closest ATM. I knew I would be strong enough to leave the hospital. I would be better off staying in the guesthouse as long as I kept keeping my right foot elevated and taking oral antibiotics at regular intervals. The pain was constant whether I took painkillers on IV or not. I paid the $500 CAD bill for my 6-day stay with cash, signed a waiver for the early discharge, and left Ridge Hospital on March 18th. I returned to the guesthouse and a dormmate helped me install a sling for my foot. Except for one day when the guesthouse was full, I stayed in the same guesthouse until I returned to Canada. Every other day I would go to the Outpatient Dept. for a new dressing. I would have bandage from toes to knee. An infected mosquito bite wound on the side of my calf never got healed and it had to be covered too.
