Doris was in fine shape when she arrived at work this morning.  She and Francis prepared breakfast for us and then we spent an enjoyable time around the table.  She was assigned the task of cleaning a room that was vacated last evening.  Next she was to return to the Spring cleaning work.  Meanwhile Francis and I took off for town.  We had a list of errands to run.  Not long after we left Doris fell deathly ill.  Jim was heading back to our room to get something when he heard a weak cry for help.  He found her wrapped in a blanket in the room she was to have been cleaning.  She was shaking with cold.  He put another blanket on her, took her temperature, gave her aspirin, and phoned to see when we would be back home.  By God's grace we were just pulling up to Shiloh's gate.  We quickly got her into the taxi and Francis accompanied her to the hospital.  Because of the severity of her condition, there was none of the usual delay in getting to see a doctor.  She was immediately put on  IV medication for malaria.  And then they drew blood to confirm that diagnosis.  Doctors out here treat for malaria first and ask questions later.  It's deadly stuff.  She is spending the night in the hospital.  In the morning they will run other tests to see if there is anything else going on.  Malaria is an opportunistic disease.  It often comes out when we are run down for any other reason.  Life here in Darkest Africa is fragile.  If one is not prepared to die, one is not prepared to live.  And that's all there is to it.  In all probability Doris will be sent home from the hospital tomorrow afternoon.  She should bounce back in a few days, depending on what other disease they may find.  Sometimes it feels like we live from one medical crisis to the next.  If it's not Francis getting typhoid, it's Guy's daughter spiking a high fever.  We never take good health for granted.  And we cling to the Great Physician.