What is 15 years?

15 years.
5478 days.
131,472 hours.

I miss you every day.

Sometimes, it feels like forever. Sometimes, it feels like you’re still here. So long. So short. You’re gone and you’re never coming back.

15 years without you in this world is too long to comprehend.

I still hear your voice on the other line. Laughing. I’ve replayed that last conversation thousands of times. All the things I would have said if I knew what I would be waking up to the next morning.

I want a do-over.

I want to say goodbye the way I should have said goodbye.

I want to tell you I love you and how amazing I always thought you were.

How truly blessed I felt to be in your presence.

I sat with you today, like I do every year. My voice still trembles. My tears still flow.

I left because I had to save myself.

Some things you never forgive yourself for.

15 years.
5478 days.
131,472 hours.

Rest in paradise brother.

My life is a comedy.

My life really is a series of comedies you’d have to see to believe.  It’s amazing. I really enjoy it, more so because things usually work out in the end.  The process though, awesome!!!! 

I was stoked when the Brussels flight was on time. Even more excited to hear we were ahead of schedule.  I only had two hours scheduled between landing in Montreal and leaving for Toronto.  I knew that would be tight, especially with having to get medical clearance upon landing.  So, I got comfortable and prepared myself for my flight.

The pilot comes on to report that they are experiencing a problem locating 6 pieces of luggage that are on the plane but their owners didn’t board.  Ok, that’s cool.  

It will take approximately 10 minutes to find each bag. Wtf?!?!  There goes my transfer flight. I write it off and take my allergy pill. 

My face is still swollen but slowly improving.  I’m optimistic that I won’t look so contagious by the time I’m in Canada.  We are ready for takeoff 40 minutes later, the pilot assures us he will speed to make up some time. Hmmmmmm. Maybe I can make my flight????

My television doesn’t work. I’m exhausted anyway so I decide to listen to music and sleep instead.  The flight is 7 and a half hours, I could get a solid sleep in that time and feel much better by the time we land.  I do just that. The first 6 hours of my flight consists of a series of power naps, interrupted only by meals and a couple washroom breaks.  

I have the window seat and there is a guy, about my age, sitting to my right.  I gave him my pretzels at snack time, so I fully expect him to cooperate when I ask him to check his television for our estimated landing time. He does. Excellent.  I decide there is no way I’m making my flight.  Since he’s been sitting on my good side the whole time, he starts to talk to me.  He’s an RCMP officer who specializes in terrorism.  Almost immediately, I feel like I have to explain my face. “I was attacked by a mosquito. It was an ugly scene but I’m not contagious”. We both start laughing.  We have some really interesting conversations about our line of work for the rest of the flight.  

About a half an hour to landing, the flight attendant comes by with a piece of paper. 

Him – “Are you Sandra?”  

Me – “Yes”

Him – “We just got a call from customs saying there are 3 of you on this flight who need to get off the flight first. I don’t know why.”

Me – “oh ok, that’s cool”

He leaves. I look at buddy next to me and say “that sounded really sketchy didn’t it?”  “Yup!”  We both start laughing again. “Do you think I’ll make it through customs with my face?”  “Hmmmmm, you’ll definitely miss your flight.”

About five minutes later, the loud speaker goes on…

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have received a call from customs saying there are three people that need to get off this flight before anyone else. (Insert our names here!) When we land, please stay seated and allow them to get off the plane first.”

Nope, that’s not at all embarrassing. LOL!  Buddy looks at me and laughs, “NOW you look sketchy!”  Always a good thing to hear from a terrorism expert.  

The plane lands and they announce that the three of us can get up now. I stand up and the female flight attendant orders me to sit down immediately. Ummmm, I don’t understand.  She looks at me very seriously and tells me only the three people are allowed to leave.  The male attendant screams from the other side of the plane, “that’s her!”  Buddy and I look at eachother and he quietly says “sketchy”.  I burst out laughing and say goodbye.  Every single person is looking at me wondering what I did wrong.  Awkward.  

There are two people waiting to escort us to medical clearance. They take our passports but keep their distance.  I turn to one guy and say “where are you coming from?”  He says “Guinea, you?”  “Sierra Leone”. Ahhhh. The other guy says he’s coming from Sierra Leone too. We bypass all the lines as we go thru customs and are taken into a small room.  In the room, we are each given a 5 page questionnaire.  My connecting flight is just a memory now.  I fill out the form and wait to be seen by the nurse.  My temperature is good. I’m given a thermometer and a lot of paper with detailed instructions on how to report my temperature daily for the next 21 days.  Okie dokie. 

It’s 2:40pm by the time I get the all clear. No way I’ll make my 2:45pm flight. 

I know there are hourly flights from Montreal to Toronto so I’m not worried. I’m told I have to collect my baggage and check in on the other side.  I also have to get rebooked for another flight, so I line up for the next available attendant.  It’s 3pm when it’s my turn. She tells me every single flight for the day to Pearson is completely booked. Something about March Break.  Crap.  There is a flight for 3:30pm that lands at Toronto Island. I’ll take it!!!!  Actually, that’s sold out now too. Dammit. 4:30pm it is.  She’s moving slowly now that there is no rush.  I message home to change the pickup location and time.  Just as she’s about to print the ticket, a spot opens up at 3:30 and she gets excited and books it. Everything is done by 3:06pm and she looks at me calmly and says “you should probably start running now.”  

I drop my bags off and sprint through the Montreal airport.  There is a ten minute line to cross security but it’s moving well. I get through by 3:20pm and sprint to my gate. It’s conveniently located as far away as you can possibly imagine but I make it. Just in time.  

My face looks better but I might pee myself. 

Next stop: Toronto 

Before and after.

There is nothing glamorous about mission life.  Nothing.

I left looking like my usual lovely self, five weeks later, I return looking like Will Smith’s allergic reaction in the movie “Hitch.”  This is why I take before and after pics. You have to see it to believe it. 

 

My favourite line in the field is “don’t judge me based on what you see here”.  If you know me in the field, you would have a hard time picturing anything else.  My personality suits it.  I’m laid back, low maintenance and relaxed…so, people don’t believe that I would enjoy dressing in a way that would normally be considered high maintenance. Wrong.  Sandra and heels go together like white bread and Nutella on this mission.  Or like chicken and anything.  We just fit.  I enjoy heels, skirts and dressing up as much as I don’t mind being filthy in the field.

Jenny and I shared that message this time around and it was the source of many good laughs. 

Everyone follows the exact same process when entering the ETC. You get your temperature checked and recorded, get the soles of your shoes sprayed with chlorine, wash your hands with chlorine, walk to the laundry to get scrubs and a pair of rubber boots and head to the changing tent to get dressed. 

The changing tent is as hot as I imagine the pits of hell to be.  You are dripping sweat the minute you walk in.  The female national staff come to work at the ETC wearing these beautiful outfits, heels and with their hair all done up.  The international staff come in what we call “mission clothes”.  We all change together for our shifts.  I couldn’t imagine wearing something nice while sweating as much as we do.   

The laughs came from us trying to explain to our male colleagues how ridiculous we look changing next to our local staff team.  You pack light for the field, usually taking clothing you wouldn’t mind losing or not bringing home with you. These are your “mission clothes”. We practically wear the same thing everyday and it’s often not in the best condition.  This is easy for men to understand, they do the same thing with their clothes.

What is more difficult for them to grasp was the concept of “mission underwear”.  The local staff would come wearing these lacy and funky print bras and panties and we had to change in our best undesired ones.

Jenny and I tried to explain what that meant to our male colleagues on several occasions.  We told them about the cycle of a bra…when it’s on the way out, it becomes mission underwear. Same with panties.  But they don’t get it.  It just didn’t make sense to them. 

Us – bras are expensive, you wouldn’t bring a new one to a mission.  Wouldn’t you bring your older underwear with you?

Them – no, actually, I packed new underwear for this one. 

Us – what?!  What name brand is it?

Them – I don’t know, my wife buys them. 

Us – check. 

Them – a Walmart brand, I think. 

Us – yeah, well you’re regular underwear probably have the same value as our mission underwear. 

Looking back now, I laugh at how ridiculous our conversations in the field can be.  It was a good mission. It was a great team.

For five weeks, I’ve wanted to have some time to myself.  Today, I am a perfect recipe for being left alone; Coming from Sierra Leone, having working at the Ebola Treatment Centre, and with my face looking sad, swollen and contagious.   

 

The universe delivers in unusual ways.  I may as well enjoy it. 

Next stop: Montreal 

Something ate my face

I knew I was getting bitten all night.  I felt it. Every part of me was itchy. 

This was my first night out of a mosquito dome since I arrived in Africa.  It was laziness really.  I had packed everything so perfectly when I left Kenema. Everything was ready to go for the rest of my journey.  I assumed they would have a mosquito net set up in Freetown, but no.  Back to my laziness.  My pelican case has exactly 7 clips to lock it.  If I had undone those 7 clips, my mosquito dome would have been the first thing I would see.  Two poles and a tent. Simple. It takes me a couple minutes to assemble it but nope. LAZY!!!!  

My left eye felt slightly swollen in the middle of the night.  I knew I had been bitten. Too late to do anything about that now, I kept sleeping.  And scratching.  I was being devoured and I was too tired to care.  By the time my alarm went off for breakfast, my eye was swollen shut.  I pried it open with my hands to make sure I could see out of it. All good.  I lay there for a few minutes before deciding I should go have a look at it.  Mirrors!!!!

I’ve spent the last few weeks without a mirror.  It’s been incredibly freeing. Refreshing.  A pleasant change from my everyday.  I haven’t cared about what I looked like. I haven’t been able to check if I had food in my teeth after a meal.  I haven’t thought about whether or not my face was dirty, if my roots were growing out, or how awful my skin must look after consuming all this gluten and dairy.  I’ve just been content with whatever it was I looked like.  Bliss. 

But my eye is swollen shut and I finally have access to a mirror.  I decide to go have a look.  Ummmmm. What in the actual fuck happened to my face??!!!  

The ENTIRE left side of my face is paralyzed with swelling.  I look like I have taken a serious beating, minus the bruising.  The only thing to do at this point is laugh.  So, I laugh.  It’s business as usual with my swollen face.  I hop in the shower and run some cold water over it.  There is no redness or puss, so I rule out infection at this point.  Looks like an allergic reaction.  That’s cool.  I’m happy that large rimmed sunglasses are in style as I walk to meet Claire for breakfast.  

I forgot to pack any Benadryl with me this time.  Oops.  Luckily, we happily share medication on missions.  We all deploy with the same meds, prescription or over the counter.  We have pills for everything.  With limited access to health care, you have to be prepared to medicate yourself should anything happen. We have anti-malarial meds, various supplements, Tylenol/Advil, cold and flu meds, sleeping pills, de-worming meds, prescription meds for severe diarrhea, at least two rounds of antibiotics in case of infection, pills for yeast infections, etc etc etc.  You name it, someone has it.  

I may have forgotten mine but Claire has prescription meds for allergic reactions with her.  Yay!!!!  I take one immediately and half of the pack to hold me until I get to Toronto.  Four hours later, the swelling starts to go down. A bit. A very small bit. Time for my next dose.  Everyone that sees my face shows genuine concern.  They are all relieved when I tell them it was an insect, and not a man.  I start to introduce myself by saying “I got bitten by a bug AND my name is Sandra.”  It’s easier for everyone this way.  By lunch, I can finally see out of my eye.  It’s trial and error in the field.  My self diagnosis appears to be accurate.  Cool.  

I go back to my room after lunch to put a cold compress on my face.

I have had one of the Ebola songs in my head for the last week.  It may be stuck in there forever.  It’s so ridiculously catchy!  I lay down on my bed, put the Ebola song on repeat and place the wet towel over half my face.  Ebola. Ebola. It’s such a good song.  When the towel gets warm, I get up to soak it with cold water again.  I dance the whole way to the sink and back.  It’s going to be strange to go back to life without singing and dancing all the time.  

An hour later and it’s time to go.  I look in the mirror one last time…yikes!!!  I need to get my eyebrows waxed, my skin is in dire need of a gluten detox and I still look beat up.  I immediately want to go back to not having a mirror again. 

Seriously though, my face is huge.  I look more beat up now than I did when I actually got punched in the face.  That sucked.  Oh well, I grab my bags and walk out the door.  

As I go to load my bags in the van, I roll my ankle on the broken pavement.  Under normal circumstances, I likely would have been able to find my balance but I am seriously top heavy with my bags. The whole thing happens in slow motion.  Today is becoming a disaster in itself.  It has been filled with a series of comedies that I will be laughing at for a long time.  With all the extra weight on me, both my knees hit the ground hard.  Followed by both my palms.  I sit there for a second to assess the situation and realize that this is going to hurt later.  I hear Claire, with her little British accent, “Are you ok, Sandra?”  I think so.  I get up and put my bags down.  The only thing I can think of is how fortunate I am that I didn’t smash the other side of my face on the ground.  I’m not sure anyone would have believed the bug story if the other side of my face was busted on the concrete.  That would have been awesome.  Luckily, I have no shame, so my pride is well in tact. 

We drive to the next mode of transportation on the journey, the ferry across to Lungi.  The cool breeze over the water feels great on my still swollen face.  I’m used to strangers wanting to talk to me but not today.  I know everyone is wondering who hit me, some ask, most just pretend they don’t notice. I guess this is one way to get the alone time I’ve been craving.  I can’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.  My palms are now bruised. My wrists are both sore and so are my bruised knees.   

Going through all the check points with this face is interesting.  The first medic at the airport looks at me and says in a very serious, slightly angry tone, “What’s wrong with your face?”  I want to respond with “what’s wrong with YOUR face?!?”  but people at the airport don’t have a sense of humour. “I got bitten by a bug.”  Seems like an acceptable enough response, he flags he through after making sure I don’t have a fever.  The next lady quietly asks “your face is swollen, are you ok?  What happened?”  “I got bitten by an bug, I’m ok.”  Relief everywhere. Just a bug. No need to panic.  I limp across to the gate. LOL. That’s a lie, I’m not limping at this point but everything really does hurt.  

More of the swelling has gone down now and I can finally see where the bite is. It’s EVERYWHERE!!!  My face was a buffet for whatever hungry beast attacked me last night.  I count at least ten bites on the left side of my face. 

After five weeks of potential exposure to a million terrifying things, a bug and broken concrete finally do me in.  The only thing I can think is that I hope my mother doesn’t come pick me up at the airport.  She won’t like this one bit.  I take another pill and hope for the best as I board the first flight. 

Next stop: Brussels.