Medical Separation

Well, it’s been a few days now and I haven’t wanted to write about the last week because that would require acknowledging that all this has actually happened. It’s a bit bizarre to be writing this blog to both my friends and family in the US and my friends and family in Guinea. I’m going over the details of my case for you PCV’s in Guinea, because I know that no one is allowed to disclose my own medical information but me, and I want you guys to understand everything that has happened. Ugh, so here goes. This is going to be a monster blog.

On July 17th, I was medically separated from the Peace Corps. Medical separation means that I have been sent home permanently due to medical reasons. I can contest this decision, and I will, but my hopes aren’t exactly sky high considering the quality of decision making that must have been involved in my medical separation.

I started experiencing physical symptoms (details which I will spare you from) a few days before New Years Eve and called the PC doctor for advice. Over the next seven months, my symptoms decreased greatly, by at least 92%, but it was still a problem I didn’t want to have to deal with. I credit myself entirely for this improvement—the only medical attention I was awarded over 7 months was a course of antibiotics and a course of general drugs that fight tropical afflictions, and none of these drugs made any marked improvements. I did, however, prescribe myself a healthy diet, an hour of cardio every day, at least 7 Nalgenes full of water to drink, and journal writing to let loose my frustrations about the medical care I’d been receiving in country. While my symptoms began improving in late February, I started developing secondary symptoms as a result of having this health problem go on for so damn long.

Because of the limited technology Guinea has, the doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I was told that the American doctor would be coming to Guinea to meet with us PCV’s sometime between May and July, and that I would be able to have an appointment with him to discuss my options, when he did come.

Due to Guinea’s instability, this American doctor’s visit kept being postponed, until July, when I was told that there was no longer a month set for his visit. This is when I broke down crying in front of the PC doctor in Guinea—which is what I wrote about in my last blog entry.

I was offered a therapy session on July 11th with an American therapist over the phone, which I explained that I didn’t need—my only emotional issues were with the medical care I’d gotten in the country. I eventually accepted the session because nothing else was being offered to me at that point. The woman I spoke with was great, very understanding, and she awarded me a positive review, calling me “highly functional, well-adapted, enjoys her site.” Five days later, I was called into the PC doctor’s office and was informed that I was being medically separated for, and I quote, “Adjustment disorder with anxiety”.

This diagnosis is incredible (or just incredibly ridiculous) considering the fact that it was based on a SINGLE conversation over the PHONE that reviewed me as someone quite the opposite of someone suffering from an Adjustment disorder. It truly is a slap in the face, considering how well I’ve adapted to my life in Guinea, and after all the months good medical attention was denied to me. I went through so much being sick for so long, on top of being a productive and adaptive volunteer, and for Peace Corps to send me home with a label of having a mental disorder is beyond infuriating. And what gets me even more is that NO ONE could explain to me how they came to this diagnosis!

My symptoms don’t even match the criterion for the disorder in the DSM IV TR. It is also important to note that I never once mentioned the word “anxiety” or anything that could be reasonably interpreted as such to the therapist.

I am not a doctor, I am not a therapist, but, I am an intelligent woman that can tell when two and two don’t add up.

I am also a woman that will be contesting this decision. I sent the Office of Medical Services a letter stating my case this past Friday, and I’m calling them tomorrow to follow up. At the very least, perhaps I will be provided an explanation as to how they came to this conclusion about me.

After giving so much of myself to Guinea and Peace Corps, it isn’t acceptable to me to be so unceremoniously dumped. I did not want to leave.

I’m nervous that a mental diagnosis was fabricated because they couldn’t figure out what physical illness I had. I don’t know why Peace Corps didn’t send me to Senegal or another country with better medical resources to discover what really was the problem, fix it, and then return me to Guinea.

That’s one thing that Peace Corps went on and on about—that they would take care of their PCV’s. If I really do have an adjustment disorder, then, yes Peace Corps absolutely made the right decision. Someone with such a disorder should not be in the Peace Corps—they could be a liability.

Perhaps I’m wrong, but I’ve lived in several countries-- I am not maladaptive. Living in Guinea is hard and stressful, but I enjoyed it, and I’m angry that the life I built for myself in Guinea has been taken away from me.

I am so thankful for the eight months I had in Guinea. They were incredible and I’m trying to focus on what I’ve gained and not what I’ve lost. I wouldn’t be this upset had I not enjoyed them so much and I’m angry because my time was cut short for reasons that were not adequately (more like remotely) explained.

Under normal circumstances, a volunteer is given 48 hours to leave the country after being med-sep’d. Peace Corps Guinea allotted me an extra 48 hours on top of this, and for that I am extremely thankful. Not only did they give me four days, they also allowed me to return to my site to say goodbye to my host family and friends and pack up my hut, using a Peace Corps car and driver. Usually the regional coordinator would pack up my hut, and my belongings would be shipped to me. So, thank you Peace Corps Guinea for allowing me to say goodbye.

I am still very much a fan of the Peace Corps program, I want that to be clear. I’m just upset over my individual case. Perhaps I won’t be upset after everything is explained.

This isn’t over, and if you would like to comment on this blog entry, I ask that you send your comments directly to my e-mail (Katieinguinea@gmail.com).

Forgive me if I take awhile to respond to them; it turns out that a mass 9 cm in diameter had been found in my Dad’s right lung, and my family is waiting to hear the results of the biopsy. The timing of my being sent home has been uncanny in correlation with my dad’s health. Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

I think about Guinea at least once every five minutes, and about what my fellow PCV’s are doing at any given moment in time. I miss you guys almost every moment of every day.

This isn’t my last blog entry—I’ll write about my last days in Guinea and what it was like arriving in America (my first two conscious thoughts were “it’s cold,” and “why is everyone walking so fast?!”) , when things at home have calmed down.

All for now, stay tuned.