I wrote this letter while I was still in the hospital, and I ended up there due to a ridiculous series of events and my own carelessness.
I fell ill on February 12, and the symptoms hit me so suddenly: a severe chill, a temperature of 102°F (39°C), and an unbearable headache, exclusively on the right side of my head. Like many of us, for the first three days, I obediently burned with fever, waiting for a runny nose and sore throat, considering the fever of those initial days completely legitimate and not raising any suspicions. The television blared non-stop about the rising number of flu cases, warning that schools would close any day now due to the epidemic. It was flu season—there was no doubt about it! And here lies my first mistake and lack of trust in myself: the fever wouldn’t break, spiking six times a day, and there was no runny nose, sore throat, or any other typical symptoms… BUT! Some inner voice kept telling me, “This isn’t the usual flu; something is wrong with you…” I even made a few timid attempts to mention this to my husband. But we were so convinced it was the flu and that we knew what to do that we didn’t think about anything else. What else was there to think about, really, when our house still wasn’t officially completed, and we didn’t belong to any clinic? No doctor from the ambulance would come to an unfinished house and walk up nine flights of stairs!!! So I lay there, burning with fever, hoping for something I couldn’t quite grasp… When on the third day, I started feeling pain in my right side (my liver, I thought, from the amount of fever reducers and painkillers I had taken, but it turned out my liver was just fine!) and began vomiting any medication I took—common sense prevailed, and my husband took me to my mom’s place. Speaking of which, our child is already so grown-up and independent: for the first three days, I was home alone with Sasha. I was burning with fever, not eating, and not getting out of bed—she brought me drinks and pills, cooked for herself, and played quietly in her room (we thought it was the flu and forbade her from coming near me), and she would quietly lie down for her afternoon nap. I could only occasionally hear her in her room, praying before the icon of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, saying, “Holy Mother of God, help my mom…” I recall this now, and tears well up in my eyes.
At my mom’s, the first thing we did—since there were more clear-headed people around—was call a doctor. And… the doctor didn’t even come to see me!!! They called me on the phone, explaining that they had too many calls and couldn’t come, that I had the flu and was doing everything right, and that, at worst, I should call an ambulance. Of course, we called the ambulance when the next day my temperature hit 103.5°F (39.7°C), my right head was pounding, and my right arm went numb. It’s easy to imagine my horror—I, without waiting for a runny nose or sore throat, thought something was wrong with my head… But the paramedics sympathetically patted me on the shoulder, confirming that it was the flu, just with a severe course. They said, “If you want, go to the hospital, but we doubt there will be any beds available—there’s an epidemic going on…” And the most dangerous part, which nearly killed me in the end, was when they said, “Prepare yourself; you’ll be burning with fever for 6-7 days!!!!”
On the seventh day, practically unconscious (I couldn’t move, couldn’t open my eyes, could only hear intermittently), I ended up in intensive care with suspected meningitis and malaria (but definitely not the flu!). And it was there, in intensive care (thank you for your promptness!), that they diagnosed me with acute purulent inflammation of the right KIDNEY after taking blood for malaria and performing a spinal tap for meningitis!!! I would have never thought… although many signs pointed to the right side… but the KIDNEY???? I had never had kidney issues and, to my own shame, didn’t even realize where they were located.
I miraculously avoided surgery on my right kidney—because in the hospital where I was taken for meningitis and malaria, a urology professor was ready to operate on me, but there weren’t enough beds in his department to admit me post-surgery. They had already set up an IV before the operation, called my husband, and got his consent. I broke down in tears, apologized to everyone, and said my goodbyes—I wasn’t afraid of the surgery or death… but I couldn’t imagine how, after not eating for 8 days and with an unyielding fever of 102°F (39°C), I would withstand general anesthesia. HOW???
Fortunately, perhaps, my fervent prayers were heard (I rarely ask for anything when I pray—I believe I already have more than I need, but here I prayed for “help” so fervently…) my parents remembered that a professor we knew worked in the urology department of the October Hospital. And so, after 10 days in the October Hospital, they pulled me through with IVs of two powerful antibiotics without surgery.
PEOPLE!!! Our inner voice is never wrong, never! Listen to yourself and don’t be afraid to go to the hospital for an examination—there’s nothing worse than the unknown and lost time…