#Diary: Running with Malaria chapter 2 - Vulnerability
#Diary: Running with Malaria chapter 2 - Vulnerability
Therapeutic account of a six-week pause in Running with Mushrooms
November in Nairobi saw me curled up in foetal position, in and out of hospital with severe malaria. This is chapter 2 of a therapeutic diary of that time. It’s long and I don’t expect you to read it.
If you’re curious, it’s an honest account of life on hold while a lot happens and a lot is learned. Check out chapter 1 before reading this one:
CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4
We’re home in London now and I’m much better so it’s back to work! You can expect a new Running with Mushrooms article or podcast every couple of weeks(ish)
Mush love, Jess ✌️
Vulnerability
Reading time: 10 mins
Location: Crescent Island Game Sanctuary, Lake Naivasha, Kenya
Sunday 12 November
Sanctuary
We’ve decided to seek solace in a game sanctuary, primed for maximum rest and nature-healing. Two hours west of Nairobi, Lake Naivasha is far enough to feel like a slice of wild getaway; yet close enough to get back to Prof Chunge if anything goes wrong.
Lake Naivasha is a busy local holiday spot, but we pride ourselves in discovering obscure and private secrets. Nestled away from the main drag and accessible only by boat, Crescent Island Game Sanctuary is home for the next five nights.
With me out of immediate danger, my family are breathing out. Our conversations have evolved from medical updates to curious musings, like (from my brother): “If a mosquito bites Jess now and then bites Mikey, would Mikey get malaria?” We agree the answer is yes, but if I bite Mikey he will be okay.
Crescent moon
According to moon practice (which I know nothing about), a waning crescent moon’s spiritual meaning signals release. It’s a time for letting go of what no longer serves you—like limiting thought patterns, negative perspectives, dead blood cells or malaria.
We chose our accommodation tactfully: Crescent Island’s iconic half-moon shape is a literal sanctuary for the abundance of wildlife here, and Hippo House’s primely placed veranda looks directly onto the lake and hippo-feeding spot. With no large predators, supplemented feed and diligently watched over by rangers, these are happy animals.
The setting allows me space to release (or at least try). We’re all happiest near wildlife, and I’m glad Husband and Sister can rest as well—caring for me is full-on!
Our wild friends are grazing closer and closer. Quietly watching from the stoep, we’ve been visited today by two hippos, a small herd of zebra, a large herd of waterbuck and a pair of dik diks.
Dik diks are tiny antelopes, around 19 cm tall and averaging 4-5 kg. A male and female will pair up for life, totally devoted to one another. Tragically, if one of them dies the other becomes suicidal. In many parts of the African bushveld, grieving dik diks will deliberately offer themselves to hungry predators. On Crescent Island with no big cats, jakkals or wild dogs, these adorable darlings trek over to the far side of the crescent moon inhabited by African Rock Pythons. True story 🥺
Accepting vulnerability
Malaria robs you of muscle mass. I can’t stand up or walk without help. I’m a fragile piece of flesh as Husband and Sister bath me, dress me, feed me, clean up after me. I’m desperate to explore this wildlife haven, but I must be patient, rest, use my eyes and not my legs. Sleep. Snooze. Dream. Heal.
I practice releasing independence and accepting help. I must release my incessant need to control, accept the fragility of my body and the humanness of my psyche. It’s not easy letting go.
Monday 13 November
PoopyPants
Never underestimate the empowerment of a good poop. I’m pale as a ghost but a shade better than yesterday, and haven't pooped since Thursday. Bloated as a balloon, my stomach is tight and hurting.
Prof Chunge says the bloating is caused by my deranged liver not adequately communicating with my digestive tract. I’m sure the cocktail of meds isn’t helping.
The family have kicked into action-mode, sharing tactical release strategies:
Breathwork
Gut massages
Keeping up the 4-6 litres of daily fluids
Reflexology, administered by Sister
Prunes, delivered by boat from Naivasha town
Yoga therapy practice, specially designed by my amazing yoga teacher and friend Tamzen Grove
Let’s hope something works; apparently not-pooping can be dangerous!
Ink caps
The mycophile in me wants to claim that mushrooms are central to this healing process, but in reality they’re playing only a minor role.
Malaria robs you of moving at normal pace. Too weak to forage and explore, I crawled over to a cluster of nearby ink caps. Ambitiously, the idea was to let them deliquesce overnight and use the ink to draw a mosquito in my notebook. Realistically my muscles won’t let me sit up long enough to scratch pen to paper—my biologically-inspired line drawing will stay in my mind, for today. Today the mushroom ink evaporated in the Naivasha sun.
Mycelium connecting
Mycelium is a connector, and a recurring visual in my hallucinations. I’m typically cynical of ‘signs’ but this feels important—healing can’t happen alone. I must release independence and connect to my people. I’ve begun sharing daily Sickypants updates with friends and family worldwide, subjecting them to every gory detail of my health journey.
I’m not used to being the centre of attention and don’t like to be fussed over or inconvenience others. Our parents placed a strong emphasis on independence and self-sufficiency. Sibling in-fighting? Sort it out yourselves. College fees? Be resourceful, work hard, pay your way.
But now, reaching out is forming a global circle of support, helping me to value myself as much as I would care for any of them in a similar situation. I am so lucky for this community, and am feeling held and loved.
Hallucination station
Coartem should have rid my blood of leftover malaria, but I’m still hallucinating a lot.
Me to Sister: “Did you get my telepathic message?”
Sister: “No, WTF are you talking about?”
Me: “I sent you a telepathic message. I just got confirmation that you received it.”
Sister: “Ok. I didn’t get it.”
Resting in the sun on the grass, I’m invaded by large, bulbous women crowding my shuka; sloppily wrapping their naked, flowing flesh around my frame while their mangled faces turn to face the hippos. I can’t determine whether they’re here to help or squash me, but I stare at the grass, holding onto the vision and searching for its beginning. If I memorise the details before they fade, maybe I can grasp a lesson here; some insight to help make sense of what’s happening to my body and mind.
DMT in the brain
Apparently the human brain synthesises tiny amounts of Dimethyltryptamine (DMT). Also known as the Spirit Molecule, DMT is one of the most powerful psychedelic substances on the planet. What is it doing inside us?
DMT is structurally similar to psilocybin and produces rapid, intense visual hallucinations with a profound dissolution of reality. Users report witnessing crazy kaleidoscopic geometric shapes and intricate patterns that pulsate and morph in an otherworldly dance. The self disappears (ego death) and time is irrelevant.
The experience is often described as a brief but intense journey to alternate dimensions; a mystical realm that challenges how we understand consciousness, existence, identity and mortality. Mostly, a DMT trip is classically impossible to describe, as it transcends the constraints of conventional reality.
In his book DMT: The Spirit Molecule, psychiatrist and psychedelic researcher Rick Strassman explored the effects of DMT on his research subjects. They reported tales of spirit worlds and an afterlife, similar to themes found in esoteric traditions and near-death experiences throughout history.
For me, these malaria-induced dreams and hallucinations closely reflect how the DMT experience is described, and I can’t help wondering about an afterlife, death and ancestors. They’re also surfacing visions and visitors that are usually prized gifts from psychedelic experiences.
Are they a result of a spike of DMT in my brain? It’s a temping thought, but apparently we do not produce near enough DMT in the brain to actually trip. Boo. The Beckley Foundation gives a good low-down here if you’re curious.
Creature guardians
My first time experimenting with psilocybin as a teenager, I talked with a fern and learned about life as a garden plant. Over the years, and particularly since a 2021 therapeutic journey, without fail these experiences are a portal to the energies of the natural world, bringing lessons from flora, fauna or funga.
For up to a week post-experience I’m visited by animal guardians. Feral faces appear in every surface, texture, material and pattern, from tabletops to carpets, trees, pavements, those mosaic walls in the London Underground, leaf litter and a plate of pasta. Today, an otter smiles from the bamboo veranda fence. A honey-badger gives a tender glance from the tree bark. An eagle stokes my confidence from the red-painted screed flooring.
These beasties are an extension of my gut, helping guide decisions. They’re comforting friends when I feel lonely and protect me when my confidence goes into hiding.
I can’t make sense of my dreams but at least I’m safe with these furry friends.
Tuesday 14 November
I pooped!!!!! 💩🎊✨ Our home remedies plus a laxative delivered by boat did the trick.
My body feels better today than yesterday. The headache has subsided to a mild 20% which is liberating after 15 days of consistent pain. I’m out of breath so am abiding by Prof’s instructions to use my eyes, not my legs, to explore the sanctuary.
Mom survived cerebral malaria in the 90s, before the medical leaps & bounds which have elevated malarial treatment today. I have a newfound respect for her strength and make a mental note to interrogate her about it when I’m back in the UK.
Dad and his wife visited yesterday; Naivasha is a short 1.5hrs drive from their home in Nairobi. We feasted, drank well (all except me), and set off on a night game drive—my first time leaving the house since we arrived!
Perching on bumpy khaki seats in the safari vehicle, we eagerly absorbed stories about each animal caught in our ranger’s spotlight: the family of six giraffe who migrate daily between the island and the mainland at low tide; the baby Thompson gazelle sheltered in a grass bed, left alone by its mother to test its survival instincts; and (our favourite) the acrobatic bush babies vaulting themselves from branch to branch in search of tasty snacks. I was really enjoying the drive but fell asleep in 20 minutes—clearly not ready yet for regular life.
Husband made an inside fire so we are resting, staring into flames. Sister left with Dad today and I miss her already. She’s an appendage: I feel incomplete without her, but I’m excited that she's off on a new adventure to the Maasai Mara.
Wednesday 15 November
Mosquito
Today is our last full day in Naivasha. My strength should be returning but I feel weaker and shakier than Sunday. I’m desperate to explore and trying to convince Husband to push me in a wheelbarrow.
Alone on the stoep, I’ve got an important job which grants me a sense of importance. I feel significant because I can prevent mischievous monkeys from ambushing the table and sneaking off with our breakfast.
I leverage this energy to sketch my mosquito. This beastie is responsible for torment, anger, trauma, confusion, frustration, financial stress and the worry of my loved ones.
The mosquito is the biggest killer in Africa, yet I knew so little about it’s nasty malaria disease. Since the 90s I’ve traveled extensively in African malaria regions but have never taken prophylaxis. The general agreement amongst our South African peers is that malaria treatment (if caught early) is less cumbersome than the the side affects of antimalarials.
Prof has assured us that modern antimalarials come sans side effects. I will never again visit a malaria region without prophylaxis. Malaria is no joke; this experience doesn’t need repeating.
Thursday 16 November
I’m sad to be leaving Naivasha today. I don’t feel healed yet and the tears are flowing. My soul feels heavy. I’m not ready.
Tomorrow we fly home to London. Unlike our regular travels, this time we’re plotting how to navigate airports without the ability to walk. It’s tiring me out: Kenya Air (our Nairobi-Entebbe flight) offers free wheelchair assist from drop-off to boarding, but our longer flight with RwandAir (Entebbe-Kigali-London Heathrow) is less accommodating. For standard wheelchair assist they’re wanting an additional £122. No thank you, how rude. Husband will have to push me on the baggage trolley.
Prof Chunge recommended a pre-travel check-up, so we’re heading straight to CTTM before checking into a shitty AirBnb near the airport.
Friday 17 November
Yesterday got really real, real quick. Was I delusional thinking we could fly home today? My blood tests were a shock, Professor Chunge declared me unfit to travel and I’m back in Nairobi Hospital.
On discharge six days ago my Haemoglobin (Hb) count read 9. Despite a high platelet count (indicating the body’s ability to produce more blood), my body has been destroying blood faster than it can be created—a process called hemolysis.
Yesterday’s Hb read 7 and dropped to 5 overnight: I am severely anaemic. Hemolytic Anaemia. With each Hb point roughly equivalent to a pint of blood, my brain and body are oxygen-starved and I’m pale as this page.
I broke down in the doctor’s room, drowning in the overwhelm of financial and health implications. We should be heading back to regular UK life, releasing a podcast and earning some much-needed income after months of self-funded research travel.
While I crumbled, Husband sprang into action.
With my body slowly shutting down, my breathing increasingly short and laboured, Husband re-booked our flights and accommodation, kept me awake and fed, got me into A&E and eventually admitted to a ward in Nairobi Hospital, again. What a hero.
Thanks for reading. You can find the other chapters here:
CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4
Mush love, Jess 🍄❤️