How to Get Sick (and Recover) in Guatemala

WARNING: This blog post contains medical information, including humorous descriptions of symptoms from a real medical disorder. Reader discretion is advised. The post is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent illness. Although, if it does - awesome! 

So, we all had a new experience this last week - amoebic dysentery. (Ok, it wasn't quite to the point of technically being dysentery, but it was close.) And, while it doesn't rate high on my list of things I'd recommend that you experience when you visit Guatemala, I think it will at least be one of the more memorable 'firsts' that we've encountered. So, in case you'd like to repeat the experience (or, maybe in case you DON'T want to repeat it), I've decided to include a step-by-step set of instructions. Without further ado, I present:

Amoebas 101

1.) Eat something. Or, drink something. Or, don't, and just touch stuff that someone else has touched. Really, there are no guarantees on this step of the process. Ameobas are very, very, very common here - both in the food and water, and on people's hands. The life cycle of amoebas makes them very easy to transmit from person-to-person. Even with the best of preventative measures (cooking things thoroughly, being careful what you drink, washing hands often) you might still end up with amoebas. Think of it as a little surprise gift from Xela to you! (How thoughtful, right?)

2.) Start feeling symptoms. Or, think you're starting to feel symptoms, but you're not sure. Or, don't, and just harbor these little suckers in your gut with you apparent side effects. Any of these are possibilities. In our case, it's likely a mix of all three. We've all struggled with <ahem> loose stools since our arrival. It's likely that we picked up amoebas sometime in the past month or two, had only a few symptoms, and managed to pass the first life cycle fairly easily. (When I speak of life cycles, by the way, let's just say it's possible to diagnose how long the amoebas have been in your gut by the presence or absence of their various manifestations. The word 'cysts' might have been thrown around in the lab report.)

Once the amoebas do start to cause symptoms, they are not pleasant ones. Severe diarrhea (up to 10 times per day), stomach cramping and aching, gas, high fever, and terrible headaches are all common... and that's just if the amoebas don't penetrate the lining the of your intestines, get into your bloodstream, and colonize in your liver. (Or BRAIN! Ewwwwwwwwww....)

3.)  Go to the doctor to get a diagnosis. This is an especially challenging thing if you don't know where to go, or what to say, since you don't speak the language. ("Un examen de heces, por favor," by the way - in case you're wondering.) This is where I am, once again, grateful to be in the embrace of a wonderful group of people who are very kind and take very good care of us. I was driven to the private hospital here in town, where I had the distinct privilege of paying 30Q (approx. $4) to give a stool sample in a urine specimen cup! I'll let the realities of that challenge remain unwritten and up to your imagination. Later the same day two other people from our family got to repeat the process. (I'm thinking this is a skill we should all include on our resumes.)

4.) Pray. (This really helped with the duration and severity of our cases!) Get medication. Again - this can be a challenge if you don't know what to say or where to go. Because lab results get emailed to you (in Spanish, of course), and there are no actual paper prescriptions, you'll once again either have to rely on the kindness of those around you, or dumb luck. (I would highly recommend the former!) Medication, though over-the-counter, is still not cheap. You should expect to pay between $50 and $75 per person for a full course of treatment. Thankfully, this is not a case where the cure is worse than the disease. The pills themselves aren't terrible, and only have to be taken three times per day for ten days. I've been told that (like most medications) it is of the utmost importance to complete a full treatment. It's bad enough to think about amoebas living in your intestines. I can't imagine having mutated amoebas to boot!

5.) Like the instructions given on shampoo bottles - lather, rinse, repeat. (Although, if you think about it, that means that we'd all be stuck in the shower forever if we followed those instructions.) Anyway - after fully recovering, you're back to step number one all over again. And, though you'll continue to do your best to wash foods carefully, watch out for what you eat and drink, and wash your hands frequently, there will still be no guarantees that you won't pick up a new batch of free-loading little amoebas who will, once again, try to colonize your intestinal tract and anything else they get access to.

The good news is that the second time around at least you'll be familiar with the process, know how to say all the necessary words in Spanish, and already be skilled at giving a sample.  ;)





 

Brain Dump

There are times when, for whatever reason, I don't have the time, focus, or ability to create an entire blog post, but there are lots of little things floating around in my head that really want to come out and play. It is for such times as these that I created the 'Brain Dump' post. Enjoy!

• Why is it that I have to duck through every doorway in my house, but the mirror in my downstairs bathroom is so high that even I (giant Gringa that I am) can only see my reflection from the nose up? 
• Is it worth taking the time to tell my phone to remember every word I type on messages and texts, or should I just continue to be content having it try to autocorrect everything I write into some random Spanish word instead? 
• There really is nothing quite like seeing a valley full of clouds from above. They look a giant, white lake, with only the highest mountain and volcano tops peeking out around the edges. Guatemala is a truly spectacular land. 
• I love that the presence of the Lord breaks language barriers. There is something immeasurably thrilling about standing in the midst of dozens and dozens of people who are crying in their own language, and I'm crying in mine, and even though we can't understand each other, we understand each other perfectly. It is at once familiar and novel every time, and I can't get enough of it. 
• I wonder when I'm going to start "feeling" like a missionary. 
• Being stared at for the color of your skin and how much you stand out is a very strange feeling. I'm not sure I like it, but I also know it's good for me, and for our family, to understand life on this side of the equation. 
• I keep mixing up the words for old (viejo) and trip (viaje). Yesterday I told my Spanish tutor that I was taking an old this morning with my students. <sigh>  He's very patient with me, and tries his best to only chuckle instead of laughing openly at my mistakes. 
• How far should one go to assimilate into one's new culture? Should I feel compelled to throw my kids big birthday parties at a local restaurant, and invite all of their classmates? Should I think about having a Quince Anos party for Rachel, even if she's not really interested in having one? Where is the line between rude and just different because of our background? 
• So, here's something strange - I buy fresh fruit from withered, ancient, Mayan women at an open market. I live and drive on literal cobblestone roads.  I hang my clothes to dry on the roof. Everyday I see people who carry things on their heads. It is no longer startling to spot cows, goats, and chickens in the road, but I do a double-take when I see a dog on a leash. These things are still hard to believe sometimes.
• Cats walking across plastic roofing in the night sound really loud. And really big. Unless, of course, there actually is a 500 pound panther walking across my skylight each night at 2:00 a.m. Could be, I suppose. Could be.
• Around here there are places called 'Auto Hotels.' Let's just say they call them that because they're places that your car goes to sleep, but <ahem> you don't. (My understanding is that they rent by the 20 minutes.) They are everywhere, and sometimes have startling American icons or logos. Like, cartoon characters, for example. I saw a billboard for one a few weeks ago that featured Chewbacca from Star Wars. Seriously, Guatemala - you never cease to amaze and confuse me. 
• Some street food smells reallllllly good. It's becoming increasingly hard to resist.  I'm beginning to think it's worth the risk of catching amoebas or accidentally eating dog meat. You only live once, right? 
• There is a kind of bread here called Pan de Muerte (bread of the dead), but I don't think it has to do wtih the Day of the Dead. (I might be wrong.) On that day people eat a cold meat and vegetable salad (of sorts) called fiambre. I'm told it's delicious. Can't wait to try it.
• I love that students have identified my room as a safe place to be, and that many of them go there to eat lunch. To hang out. To cry. To ask for prayer. God is so good.
• Every roadtrip I take (or everytime I'm in the car for more the 20 minutes, for that matter) I see someone peeing on the side of the road. There are signs up all over town admonishing people not to throw trash or use the bathroom on the sidewalks, walls, and empty lots. 
• I have yet to figure out how to write about life here in a way that really captures the beauty of this place and my genuine, pleasant wonder at it all. Somehow everything I've written sounds negative, even though I meant it just the opposite. I guess you're going to just have to believe me when I say that everything here (even the hard stuff) is a blessing and part of the place that God has truly made me love with all my heart.

Identity Crisis

Learning a foreign language is hard, especially at my age. (I'm not old, of course, but I'm also not  kid anymore, either.) Figuring out new pronunciations, conjugations, phrases and idioms - I'm not gonna lie, it's taxing to say the least. I never before understood the reality of a physical headache that comes from language strain. Let me assure you, though, it's very real. But, despite how challenging and annoying that can be, it's not the hardest part about learning a language. That hardest part is losing your identity.


Allow me to explain.

In the U.S., I speak English, and I speak it well. I am an English teacher, after all. I'd like to believe (and years of experience have supported the idea) that it's easy for fellow English-speakers to assume within just a few moments of conversation that I am a Christian, educated, informed, intelligent, open, friendly, kind, trustworthy, sincere, genuine, and contain a sharp wit and a great sense of humor. (Alright - maybe people don't think all of those things, but it's my blog, so I'm allowed to take a few liberties.)

Here, though, it's not so easy.

I'd like to think I'm still all of those things, but now I don't have any way to communicate them to others. Let's face it, someone unable to come up with the word for 'sit' doesn't exactly come off as amazingly smart. I'm afraid that the long pauses in conversation during which I roll my eyes heavenward, searching (physically and metaphorically, as it were) for a certain phrase or way of saying something tend to make me look a bit untrustworthy at best - as if I'm engaging in a lie and trying to keep all the facts straight in my head. At worst, I'm afraid some people have wondered if I literally had a mental disorder or disability. And then there is the inappropriate level of exuberance I express in voice and energetic hand gestures when trying to convey such simple things as wishing to buy two pounds of potatoes, instead of one.

Of course, it also doesn't help that, apparently, we no longer know how to say our own names. Mark has (out of necessity) become Marcos. Rachel is now Raquel. Even Rebecca, Sarah, and myself, whose names are technically also Spanish names, have had to learn to drastically change the pronunciation. As for 'Farrier' - forget it! It's strange how even American words from American corporations (like Big Mac, or Angus Deluxe, for example) have to be said with a pronounced local accent in order to be understood. It is a surreal experience at McDonalds to ask for chicken nuggets and be received with a blank stare, but be understood perfectly by contorting the word into "noo-goots".

<sigh> I'm afraid that all of Xela have become aware of the family of giant gringos living in their midst, and they're thoroughly convinced that we're all a bunch of idiots.

So, to overcome that misconception, we're doing our best to smile a lot. We are very well versed in the Spanish phrases for, "I'm sorry," "please," and "blessings from Jesus." And, we do our best to express the love and grace of Christ everywhere we go. Perhaps we can at lesat be known as polite idiots who love the Lord, after all.

For all of you out there living in the land of your native tongue - soak it up! Enjoy being able to express who you are, and never forget how powerful your words can be! (I'd try to say that in Spanish for you, but I'd rather maintain my reputation as an intelligent, intelligable person instead - at least in one country!)

I'm Not Quite Sure I Understand...

It's kind of important to be able to speak Spanish down here. Even more so to be able to understand it. I know that sounds obvious, but the reality of it hits you in a million different ways everyday - ways that even I really didn't expect.

For example - my Yahoo! email sign in is now in Spanish. As is Yahoo! news. And the ads in my Facebook feed.  The people who pump our gas also speak Spanish to us. Now, this doesn't sound like it would be a big deal, except if you don't know whether they're asking if you want your windshield washed, or telling you that you're leaking extravagent amounts of oil and other important fluids.

Most of the time we manage to get along with our limited understanding, lots of exaggerated hand gestures, and the seemingly infinite patience and kindness of the locals. But, there is one situation where these things really don't help... instruction manuals.

I just bought my first pressure cooker. I know other people who've had them, but have never used on myself, or even seen one used. Apparently they're kind of necessary when you live at 7,500 feet elevation. At least, if you want to eat beans, among other things. So, on the recommendation of - well, everyone - I went out and got one at our local Walmart store.

It's new! It's shiny! It's exciting! And, its instruction manual is entirely in Spanish.

After a bit of panic and dismay, I decided to dive right in and do my best to understand how to work my new piece of kitchenware. A piece of kitchenware, I might add, which can kind of be like a mini bomb filled with superheated steam and bits of scalding beans.

(I really wanted to get this right and understand what I was reading.)

So far, here's what I've got. (Things in caps and bold are also in caps and bold in the instructions. I'm sure this means they're super important, which is all the more disconcerting when I can't understand what they say.):

IMPORTANT SECURITY (safety?) MEASURES:
-Revise (check?) the escape tube, (something, something) that it is free of obstructions before using your Pressure Express Pan (pot?)
- Be sure (?) that the Pan (pot?) is well armed before using. (I'm pretty sure this is a wrong interpretation, but it's all I've got...)
- Never (something?) the pan (pot?) for (??) 2/3 of maximum capacity, as a general rule. (Or a general gift. Those two words are pretty close, and I get confused.)
- EXTREME PRECAUCIONS WHILE USING THE PAN (pot?) CLOSE TO CHILDREN AND MAINTAIN A CAUTIOUS SUPERVISION (I'm beginning to feel pretty cautious about using this thing!)
- The Pressure Express Pan (pot?) is (something. It has an n with a little curvy thing over it) EXCLUSIVELY for domestic use. (Does it count as domestic use if I'm in a country foreign to me, but native to the pan? Pot?)
-ALWAYS USE ORIGINAL (something. Looks like refraction, but it's not). It is INDISPENSIBLE (this has another meaning... I'm almost sure of it) for the perfect and totally safe functioning of the Olla Pressure Express (tm).

<sigh> It's pretty clear I'm going to have to get some help with this. Either that, or we're never going to eat beans again. I can live without chili, right?

I'll keep you posted...