Sri Lankan Journal #3

Malaria . . . Prevention, I Hope

Today marks the last day I plan to swallow a turquoise capsule of doxycyline, my prescribed medication to increase the odds that no mosquito unfolding its life cycle in Sri Lanka—especially one having sustained this life cycle by imbibing at least one bloody cocktail swimming with malaria parasites before guzzling my own blood in the ongoing pursuit of sustenance—will infect me with malaria. (PLAN A: This antibiotic annihilates any malaria parasites that happen to invade my body before malaria—the disease—evolves. PLAN B: Seek medical treatment immediately should any malarial symptoms appear within a month of returning home!)

Two to three days before one enters the established malarial zone, one commences ingesting one capsule of doxycyline per day and continues for four weeks after departing said zone. It’s those 28 days of pill-popping after one’s return that become a real labor, especially when one’s stomach has launched a rebellion against the pill itself. Now, to be fair to my stomach, it has endured three sessions of doxycyline infused malaria prevention within the last year: India (Christmas Break, 2007), Indonesia (June, 2008), and Sri Lanka (Christmas Break, 2008). Gulping pills first thing in the morning or last thing at night works better with my memory for keeping the event regular, but no amount of water alone—even up to 16 ounces—inhaled with the capsule could preclude a stomach ache this time around. I immediately switched to sucking it down with meals only to discover that I had to monitor what else I ingested with it: Dairy products NOT good at all; grain products alone not sufficient to forestall stomach distress either. Fat grams in the mix, especially meaty ones, work best!

When I returned from Indonesia last summer, I cheated on the 28-day continuance of the ritual and cut off by about day 23; I had two or three bites—my friend Mishel seemed to be the mosquitoes’ morsel of preference—and Bali, the last part of the trip, wasn’t part of the malarial zone anyway. This time, though, I couldn’t cheat . . . not after Yala!

Our first night in Yala the mosquitoes ate me up! We discovered the next day an open window in our cabin. Apparently the cleaning people hadn’t closed it, and we had never opened the curtain covering that window to realize that it was even open. Meanwhile, though, I battled through a night of buzzing and biting. My bed was situated closest to the window, and these mosquitoes definitely seemed to prefer me over Jennell! The next day I had a collection of TWELVE bites on my face alone! My arms, legs, and especially prime areas of my hands—like knuckles that poked out of the sheet with which I had desperately tried create a barrier of protection for myself—sported numerous bites as well.

We left Yala December 26 and headed into the highlands. Neither of us suffered any more from flying pests . . . although I will confess that I wore some mosquito bites on my skin even until I returned to Japan, to include several on my face! Today, January 26, I’m calling it quits on the pills.

Here is Jennell on the porch of our cabin in Yala.


This is a panorama from the viewing tower located on top of hotel reception and the second-floor dining area. The hotel pool is right below, the ocean is to the left, and Yala National Park begins just across the lake.

The entrance to Yala National Park, Elephant Rock, Jennell and I spot our first leopard in the wild, that first leopard, and one of the elephants we saw in the park.