It’s one thing to be so nauseous the mere thought of food
produces a gag reflex, have diarrhea that demands staying near a bathroom at
all times, and a stomach ache that comes in waves like battles in a war fought
inside when you are a child at home with someone to care for you. It is an
entirely other monster as an adult, living in a foreign place, with absolutely
nothing in your brain to sort things out.
Sunday morning it hit; that is, the nausea. I woke up early, ate a left over scone,
decided that was an awful idea and crashed on the couch. Ick. I don’t really
feel well. It takes more than feeling a little under the weather to slow me
down so I continued the morning as usual by skyping with a friend, hanging
laundry, and changing the linens on my bed. Soon I was getting ready for church
and making breakfast. I thought trying a new smoothie would be a nice change:
avocado and banana. Although my stomach didn’t agree, it wasn’t protesting, so
down it went – a wonderful pale green smoothie sliding into my gurgling tummy.
Before long the revolt came and my stomach was in knots. Growing up it was
always saltine crackers to ease a stomach ache, so I grabbed two as I ran out
the door.
Church was painful.
When feeling nauseous it is incredibly difficult to focus on anything
except, “okay, don’t vomit. Good, 30 minutes left. Okay, don’t vomit. Man, 29
minutes. Can I make it? Don’t vomit. Focus Leanne, don’t vomit. 20 minutes.” With
such mental toughness I finished the service. Although I finished, it left me
weak and ready to curl up in bed. The 11 minute walk back to my apartment was
laborious. How thankful I was to have my dear friend Debbie walking by me the
entire way. We kept up conversation and this allowed my thoughts to wonder away
from how sick I felt. I just needed to lie down; certainly I would feel better
after a nap.
My nap turned into 4 hours of fitful rolling to ease the
pain in my abdomen. I did manage to pass out for a bit though and when I opened
my eyes to look at a clock it was already 5:00.
Then the diarrhea hit. I’ll spare the gruesome details and just tell you
it was bad. I had a phone date with my mom so I briefly called home. Mom
answered and more than ever I just wanted her to be in Colombia with me. She’d
know what to do. She’d know what I should take. She’d take care of everything
while I centered my attention on feeling better. She wasn’t here though. I was
still alone and feeling like death. At least I could tell someone my pain. So,
I let it all out; told her everything. My lip was in the full out pout position
and I was feeling sorry for myself. Like many moms do, she talked me out of my
slump and assured me things would be fine. I believed her….her timeline was
just a little different than mine.
After ending the Skype call I hunched on my little love seat
in a fetal position. “No Amiguita, I
don’t want to play. Leave me here to die.”
I whimpered once or twice and again slipped out of sickness and into
nothingness. An hour later I woke up and knew there was no way I could make it
to school Monday morning. Picking up the phone, I gave Luisa Super Woman a
call. I told her my symptoms and she said she’d send a doctor to my house right
away. If I needed anything I was to call back. Within the half-hour (it’s about
7:30 by now) my portero called and ushered the doctors in. In my best Spanish I
tried to explain what was going on. They probed and prodded and found nothing
out of normal except my stomach making a lot of noise. I assume it was the
battle cries of whatever was at war.
They decided it was probably a parasite, wrote down 4 medicines,
explained how to take each one, and then asked if I wanted the injection.
The injection? They explained that it would be a shot that
would make me feel better. My friend had warned me about this. It must be their
drug of choice. So the doctor led me my bedroom and had me lie on my stomach on
my bed. He pulled my shorts band down, exposing my rear end, and planted the
needle right in there. Ow, owe, oweeyyy. It did not feel good. “Does it hurt?”
he inquired. Really? Are you asking me if sinking a needle into a strong muscle
(ha! Who am I kidding?) and leaving it there for 10 seconds while you take your
sweet old time getting the medicine out of the syringe hurts? Yes. It hurts.
Satisfied? Sheesh.
So I received the infamous shot in the butt (3 days later
and my limp is finally receding) and the doctors left me with wishes of better
health. I could see a brighter future. The sermon from earlier was about joy. I
wasn’t quite to leaping through fields and singing in a loud voice, but I
returned to my bed with a smile. Again, my imagined timeline of getting well
was shorter than would actually be, but I didn’t know that then.
The next time I woke
up it was 9:00. I knew I had to send substitute teacher notes to my secretary
at school, so I took care of that and went back to bed. Once again I returned
to a dreamless state with interrupted changes of position to ease my stomach.
The next time I looked at the clock it was 5:30 Monday morning. I had survived
the night. I hadn’t eaten anything since
my Sunday smoothie, and decided I should try to eat something. The doctors had
given me a list of foods to try. The only thing I had on hand was an apple and
saltine crackers. 2 more crackers and an apple later and I was done. The nausea
had returned and I was stifling the urge to vomit. Back to bed. Must go back to
bed. At this point I had slept 20 of the
past 24 hours, but I just needed more.
When I woke up around noon, I knew that I had to go get my
medicine. It was possibly the only thing between being sick and being healthy
again. I recently found out I could have ordered my drugs and had them
delivered, but my Gringa self didn’t know this at the time. So I got dressed,
hauled myself in the sun to the pharmacy, paid the $45 and turtled my way back.
I thought the fresh air might do me good – who was I kidding.
1 medicine was liquid and grape. Not bad. The next was
powder that I dissolved in water and taste like some bacteria broth I would
make in bio lab. Sick. The next was a pill. Normal. The final was another
powder to be dissolved in water and drank. Luckily this was orange flavored.
Not so bad. Upon taking the medicine, the next 24 hours ensued: sleeping,
bathroom, reading, bathroom, sleep, bathroom, planning, bathroom, skype call,
bathroom…etc. Eating was nowhere in my routine as the nausea was lingering.
When will this ever end? Tuesday? Not quite. Back to school, but not back up to
speed. At least the diarrhea wasn’t urgent and the nausea was subsiding. The
only thing left to kick was the pains in my stomach. Owey. I ate my first meal
Tuesday at lunch , made it through the entire day, walked home, and crashed.
Wow, that was exhausting. Relaxing the rest of the evening and taking meds did
me a whole world of good. I was on the final stretch – this is what my mom was
talking about: I would get better.
And better is where I find myself writing this today. It’s
Wednesday and I’m finishing up the last hour of the day. My stomach is still a
little upset, but not enough to prevent me from eating or force me into a fetal
position. I’m writing from a thankful standpoint of overcoming a sickness. Who
knows what it was, but I’m joyous knowing that it’s almost gone! Thank you God.
Yes, thank you God.
One more thought about being sick: It overwhelms me how many
people inquired after me while I was sick. Several (I mean more than 5) of my
Colombian/America friends reached out with sympathetic hands and offered help
if I needed anything. It warms my heart knowing that I have caring people
concerned for me in this strange place. With friends sickness is overcome and
joy is replenished.
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