TMI 4sho

~warning: the author of this post no longer has a sense of what might constitute TMI~

For anyone who has ever told me that I'm full of shit, I am sorry for ever doubting you.

Truly just copious, ungodly amounts.

The past few days have been dark, dark times. But thanks to my warped sense of humor, my newfound lack of shame, and the love and support of my beautiful host family, I know I will be fine.

Before what I'll refer to as "the extended incident", I'd been feeling great, and getting a little cocky about it. Like Dennis, I felt like my body was achieving perfect symmetry, that long lean muscle I'd worked so hard to achieve, fueled by gallo pinto and lots of maduros.

But also like Dennis, I soon fell to my demise. Even the best fall down sometimes, as they say.
(I watched this episode, Mac and Dennis Get Invinceable, on a rough day so I've included the analogy but it's a stretch we can all agree.)

I'm not going to bore or disgust you with the details, (FB message me if they're that important to you and I'll divulge), but let's just say given my home in Managua, with the thin walls that don't extend to the ceiling, my host family was well aware that I was under the weather on Wednesday morning.

I decided it was all in my head, like most of my ailments, and that I should continue eating my typical Nica fare, which includes bananas, rice, beans, and cheese, all fried of course, and also some creamy vegetables called giso. 

I've had a lot of good ideas in my time, most of which are stored in the Notes section of my phone, and I've had a lot of bad ideas, as well, and this approach to indigestion absolutely falls in the latter category.

I learned quickly from the error of my ways and put myself on the BRAT diet, (which has nothing to do with my attitude, which has been relatively positive) but stands for Bananas Rice Applesauce and Toast. I don't really eat toast and have not seen applesauce here so I stuck to the BR diet, plus Gatorade, and this Electrolit beverage the local farmacia sells, to sustain myself for the next few days.

I still wasn't feeling great and I didn't do too well hiding it from my peers. I joined a conversation about neoliberalism and feminist theory to interject, "I feel like there's an alien inside me, but not the good kind," so luckily I came across as an intellectual equal.

As it turns out, I was not too far from the truth! My host mom took me to the local farmacia again and we bought a sample cup and I did the deed and my host dad took it to the local laboratorio to find out what was wrong with me. I self-diagnosed appendicitis more than once, but my Nica mom, Maria José, insisted that I didn't have it because my brother has had it before and she knows the symptoms better than I might pretend to. 

Yesterday, after two presentations with only a respectable amount of wincing in pain throughout, the results were in, but the results were in Spanish. Also in medical jargon, which I've been known to use but never understand. A quick Google Translate and Center for Disease Control search later and I soon realized I had parasites inside me, clearly living it up from the looks of things.

My family here was bewildered by my reaction because I was pretty pleasant about it. After two days of crying unintentionally when they asked me how I was, one of which led into a sob sesh about the goddamn sexismo, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and that light was antiparasite meds.

Given that I am not a doctor and neither is the internet, we waited for my next-door neighbor, who is a doctor, to arrive home for his free, neighborly expertise. But he never came, probably because he was working a night shift.

Luckily, this morning, I felt a little better. My dad and little sister drove me to church, the cool one I'd visited with my spanish class to see the murals, which also doubles as a medical clinic. There is nothing like describing your illness in a language that is not your own, but people can do crazy things when they're desperate. 

I showed the doctor my lab results, asked him "Voy a morir?" or "Am I going to die?" for good measure, he laughed and not in a cruel way so that means "No" and then explained to me that there are too types of parasites, intracellular and extracellular and I have both. "Que suerte" I said, which means "how lucky", which counts as a joke in my second language because it was sarcastic and definitely indicates linguistic gains. 

The lab results cost me 90 cordobas, which is a little over 3 dollars. The doctor visit cost me 100 cordobas, which is a little under 4 dollars. This was without insurance, because I have it here, but you pay cash up front and then get reimbursed after filling out a claims form.

The doctor touched my stomach and asked if it hurt and I assured him it did and with that, we were ready to get medical. He wrote me a prescription for some zinc pills to replenish my poor stomach and some antiparasite meds for the next five days, because I've never claimed to be hospitable and I want these guys out. 

The Church farmacia lacked both of the medicines I needed, because I really need my character built so nothing can be easy for me, so my dad and sister took me to another neighborhood farmacia. The meds were pricey, but still way less than they'd be in the U.S. without insurance surely, and rounded out to be less than $25. 

They had my age as 22, which is close but wrong, but honestly this whole process has probably aged me more than a year so it's fine.

My new favorite Fraternidad. Sorry, DOZ, now you're numero dos.

Kathleen just reminded me of this relevant video, but let the records show I did not contract parasites intentionally nor am I thinner because of them, but rather fairly bloated.

I don't know how I contracted these fellas, but according to my Academic Director, they're "run of the mill parasites". Nothing too crazy, I'm not that special. Probably I ate something that hadn't been washed properly or maybe my hands weren't clean when I ate or any number of cringe-worthy causes that could bring out the inner germaphobe in us all. I will say it is pretty tough to maintain good hand hygiene in places that do not have running water for many hours of the day, (so count your blessing and conserve water) but I vow to be vigilant and carry hand sanitizer and wipes at all hours- I packed almost exclusively clothes with pockets so this is possible.

I just came back from Metro Centro, the mall in Managua, where I bought several bold shades of lipstick. I never wear lipstick, but in analyzing this decision, I think it may be linked to the parasite's continued presence in my person. Not that they're controlling me and my purchasing power, but I think I feel so gross that I just wanted to wear a statement color and reclaim my identity from the bastards.

"If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten either write something worth reading or do so something worth writing." - Benny Franklin

I feel like I've faced my mortality a lot here, much more than I'm comfortable with, and I sure hope when that day inevitably comes, that I've done something meaningful or written something powerful. Or at least that I haven't made things worse in this messy world of corruption and inequality.

On a much lighter note, I head to Havana, Cuba this Wednesday at 4 AM at which point I will be nearly parasite-free and wholly excited. I'm going to see my Grandpa's childhood home, I'm going to learn a whole lot about my roots and the revolution and the history, I'm going to drink a mojito or several, and if my friends smoke Cuban cigars, I'm going to cough obnoxiously because asthma.

Pepa, the new pitbull puppy in the study center. Licking my Tevas and dispelling all negative stereotypes about the breed.

Last Day of Spanish classes. Wearing a Nicaragua shirt isn't touristy because I saw a Nica man wearing the same exact shirt on my walk back from class and I shouted this recognition at him before he had a chance to degrade me with a piropo and in that moment, he saw me as an equal, because I wear this men's tank often and I wear it well.

Arboles de Vida,  Daniel Ortega and the first lady marking their territory. Some suggest she is a witch. I knew that word in Spanish because I read Harry Potter.

The Party Bus!! lol jk a 6+ hour ride of relatively constant discomfort. Well decorated, though

José Angel trying to convince me not to go study, easily convinced cuz blogging instead.