Ordinarily, I prefer to keep things lighthearted; that's why negative boo-hoo-mee statuses, etc., generally get on my nerves. That's also why I'm not 100% proud of my boo-hoo-mee statuses and comments the last couple of days about this mystery illness from the diablo. Or the chupucabra, whomever. However, being alone in a foreign country with what may be typhoid is . . .lonely. And Facebook, as any good internet website should, simulates human interaction so that I'm tricked into thinking I'm surrounded by friends and friends' parents and former teachers, and not alone in a hostel in Puno, Peru, heading to the can every 15 minutes to empty out the two liters of water I've drunk in the last two hours.
To be fair, my one friend outside of work has been checking up on me via text and phone call, making sure I'm okay and asking if there's anything he can do. I figure our friendship is too young to say, "Yeah, could you bring me some TP? I just tore through my last roll." So I just say, "That's really sweet, but no, thank you." Also, the nurses and doctor at the clinic I've been visiting have been stellar. The one nurse, Nelia, picked up on that I was freaked out and homesick, and stopped what she was doing at one point last night to give me a big hug. [Sure, she said, "It's okay, Andrew", but I knew who she meant.] When she hugged me, I started bawling. I'd been joking around with the doctor, because humor is my first line of defense, and in an instant I was weeping in the arms of a woman I'd just met the day before. One of the symptoms of Typhoid is delirium, but drastic mood-swings are not abnormal for me [thanks, maternal grandmother!], especially when I'm tired and sick and homesick. Therefore, I wasn't too worried. Embarrassed? Nah, not really embarrassed either. I'm above that now.
Speaking of embarrassment. . . for someone who has trouble pee-ing in bathrooms outside of her own home, it was initially sufficiently awkward that my entire hostel could hear the alientbots of Transformers 3 fighting their way out of my body and into the toilet for the last three days. The walls are paper-thin, and the doors paper-thinner, so there wasn't any hiding my illness. At first whenever I did venture out to buy more fluids or toilet paper, I would hide my face from my fellow hostel-mates in the hallway. Why? I don't know, because at this point, who cares? You know how they say you lose all shame when you have a child? Let's just say I got a jump-start.
Days ago, before this turned into a saga, I intended to make my food-poisoning experience into its own entertaining little blog post. I even was collecting in my mind clever anecdotes and jokes to include, like the non-joke that, when I finally ventured out Thursday evening to buy tylenol, people on the street were looking at me as if I were the Grim Reaper. "Oh, heavens! What happened to that poor, pale, white lady?!" passers-by would gasp.
Or this little story: On Friday, I finally got the name of a doctor I could visit nearby. After literally crawling across the floor to put on my boots, I grabbed my computer to Google Map the address of the clinic, which I noted was only three blocks from my hostel. [Roughly 50 yards.] When I walked outside and hailed a cab, I gave the taxista the address and asked how much he'd charge. He told me 3 soles [about $1.11], which is roughly 2.9 soles too much. Though in a nauseous stupor, recently too weak to walk across the room to my boots, I cocked my head to the side, looked him in the eye, and replied, "Seriously?" He saw that I meant business, so he dropped the price to 2 soles*. Whatever. Just take me to the clinic. When he dropped me off he said, "Hasta luego!" and I replied, "No way."
Lastly, I spent my very last soles Saturday morning on my, like, 10th and 11th bottles of Electoral [electrolyte fluid]. The price for two bottles was 13 soles, but I only had 11.20. The pharmacist told me, "Sorry, I guess you'll just have to take one." I rummaged through every pocket in my pants, vest, and jacket, and then through all 73 pockets of my Swiss Army-brand backpack. All I found were five dimes and a quarter. I asked her, "Would you accept this American money?" She took the quarter in her hand and asked me how much it was worth. I responded that it was worth 25 American cents, which is about 70 Peruvian cents. She said, "Okay, I'll take this and blah blah blah Spanish that Audrey doesn't understand blah." I offered her the dimes, but she declined, I think because they are small. I left her the quarter and my immense gratitude, took the Electoral, and was on my way. On my walk home, now without a dime--not literally because I actually had five dimes--an old Peruvian man with a cane implored me, "Give me a sol." I responded, in English, "Mister, I don't have a sol!"** [For the irony, please read my reply aloud.]
Now, to conclude, I'm headed to Arequipa tomorrow to get a second opinion on the Typhoid diagnosis and to get some R&R. (Remember the in-laws of the best friend of my mom's boss live there, and I stayed with them last time I was in Arequipa.) Thankfully, though a little feverish this afternoon, I have gone #1 almost as many times as I've gone #3, so that's a great sign. It had been about a 1:80 ratio. I have requested that we go to the doc in Arequipa asap tomorrow to get that second opinion, and to continue this antibiotic regimen, as I'm leery of throwing a wrench in what seems to be working so far. That said, it will be nice to speak English about it and have a "mom" take care of me while I recuperate.
This weekend my dear friend Emily***, who has been working in northern Peru and suffering similar gastric ailments over the past few months, is going to visit me in Arequipa before she heads back to the USA. (Sorry I told everyone about that time you got diarrhea in Peru. And I'm sorry for repeating it now.) We were planning to celebrate the Peruvian independence days in Lima, but she has been gracious enough to re-route. It will be indescribably splendid to be with a familiar face/awesome friend for a few days. I can't wait. I also can't wait to continue to return to normalcy.
On that note, I'll actually conclude with this final thought: In Africa, it's a complement to be called 'fat' because so few people have the luxury of absorbing enough calories to get fat, whether it be due to hunger or parasites or typhoid or take-your-pick-of-African-nutritional-ailments. A few friends have commented about my maybe-typhoid, Omg, you're gonna lose so much weight! but, really, I have been so miserably sick and hungry [I'm not allowed to eat solids, btw] that I would so much rather be myself than to constantly have this gnawing feeling in my belly and Freddy vs. Jason fight goin' on in my intestines. In America we worry about food, rather than let it nourish us, and fight with our bodies for not looking right, rather than being grateful for the incredible things they do for us: like digest food and poop it out in solids. . . and sometimes other things, too, like run 10K's, have babies, or carry us to those we love.
Thanks for reading and for praying and for sending encouraging words. If you wanted to continue all those things, yeah, I'd be really grateful.
Audrey
*An economics lesson for you: In this situation, the taxista (the supplier or transport) had an unfair advantage because, though there were five taxis behind him, I (the demander) was physically unable to walk the 10 yards to ask their prices. That, my friends, is what happens when there are is too much friction in a free market. It appears that the taxista, a jerk, is also a good economist.
**No, I am not proud that I denied a man with a cane a sol. That's what's ironic. I told him I do not have a sol (which I did not), and in so doing, also acknowledged that I figuratively did not have a soul for not giving to this poor old man with a cane. Also, begging in Peru is rampant, and that warrants its own blog post. I'll say this now, though, that it makes me sick when parents whore out their children to beg for them rather than doing whatever they can, as parents, to provide for their children. (If that means begging themselves, then so be it, but do not a. degrade your children and b. teach them that this is a proper way to make a living.) I've seen it happen many times and, in my book, it falls into the same category as the Norway tragedy. Children should be left their innocence, and no one, not a terrorist nor especially a parent, should take that away from them.
***Name has been changed b/c I didn't ask her permission to tell everyone she has had diarrhea and if I'm going to embarrass someone, I usually want to ask their permission first.
I'm glad that someone else named diarrhea #3!
ReplyDeleteOh man, I hope you are on the uphill now. Praying for ya, Andrew!
ReplyDelete