The doctor in Addis made a diagnosis: reactive arthritis. MSF flew me back to New York, where a specialist confirmed my diagnosis and started me on prednisone. I read up on the disease, having never seen it outside of textbooks. As medical students, we’re taught the mnemonic “can’t see, can’t pee, can’t climb a tree.” I cheerfully informed friends that I could indeed see and pee, but definitely not climb a tree. I read that most people would recover fully within six months, but some would go on to experience chronic or recurrent symptoms. 

As I faced my diagnosis at home, the MSF team still in Ethiopia was struck by tragedy: three MSF employees based in Mekelle were killed. Yohannes Halefom Reda, Tedros Gebremariam, and María Hernandez. I never knew them. They worked in a different city, though only 150 miles away. I wondered what went through their minds as they faced the last moments of their lives. Meanwhile, the communication blackout in Tigray meant that I had no way of contacting my colleagues there. I felt both extremely lucky and profoundly pained to be so far away. 

My condition gradually started to improve. After two months on high doses of steroids my joint pain had improved, but I was still in daily pain and had limited use of my right hand. My rheumatologist suggested I start a biologic. It would be another two months before I returned to work and three months before I was fully weaned off steroids. I faced the gamut of side effects, including weight gain and moon facies (now immortalized on my hospital ID badge).  

Now, it has been over a year since my reactive arthritis first started. I am grateful that I’m 95 percent back to normal. Aside from minor aches and pains, my disease has very little effect on my day-to-day life. But I’m still waiting, month after month, to see if I will ever fully be myself again. 

I think about Tigray less than I used to. As is natural, the depth of my sadness has lessened with time. But I still often stop and think, “Are my Ethiopian colleagues ok? Are they alive? Do they have food to eat? Do they wonder why we’ve abandoned them?” I hope they know I still think of them. I want to say that I would be there if I could, that if the political situation allowed it I would return in a heartbeat. But the truth is that my heart is still so heavy with memories of my time there, my illness, and what it did to my family to see me go through it. I hope one day the war will end, and I will be able to visit Tigray and appreciate its beauty and history. I hope my Ethiopian friends will still be there.