What I forgot to leave in Texas
Sheila recently blogged about the
mountains of items I brought back with me as a follow-up to the container of
household, office and mission-use goods needed to complete the transition.
There is one thing I brought back that cannot be seen with the naked eye. It is
an object that leads me to my first trip through the medical system here in
remote northern Nicaragua.
Be advised that the written images in this
blog may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Further
be advised that facts have been skewed for entertainment purposes but the
account is based on real events. No missionaries were harmed, at least not very
much, in the writing of this blog.
My day began with the hacking that so
often accompanies my mornings. It is one I started while in the good ol’ US of
A. The honking sound I make is something between a wheezing laugh and
liquid-based cough – you’ve heard the same noise made by a 70-year-old woman
who has smoked for 80+ years. Immediately upon hearing the strange noise and noticing
geese flocking to a nearby pool, Benny, the MPC Executive Director and El Jefe,
directed me to report to the medical clinic we oversee for a visit with Dra.
Pena.
Dra. Pena looked me over, and began with
all the normal medical observational inquiries I always hear such as, “Many
people in Nicaragua are starving. Not you, huh?,” and “You remember to beep
when you back up, right?” She then asked
me to remove my tent (she meant shirt, but her English is not great) so she
could listen to my lungs.
Here’s a universal travelers’ hint: If you
don’t speak the language take an interpreter.
She said something about pneumonia,
asthma, Arturo (our pharmacist) and Leo (our nurse.) She then wrote out several
prescriptions, made several notes and told me to leave her office.
Bear in mind, these are all work
associates and I can say without a doubt none have ever seen my bum. Leo loaded
a syringe and pointed to her backside as I raised, and then quickly lowered my sleeve.
She had the grace to ask me to step behind the screen instead of stay in the
hall with my backside in full regalia.
She gave me a quick stab then went about
her business. The receptionist then looked over my papers and told me to go to
bioanalysis for “examen el sangre” – blood test.
To say my blood was “drawn” would be to
misspeak. My blood was “dripped.” The traditional vacuum tube had no vacuum so
the small needle was inserted into my arm and held gingerly over the open mouth
of the vile…one…drop…at…a…time. It was like a cross between the Chinese water
torture and a medieval blood-letting. This explains the barber pole outside the
lab.
So here’s a medical side question: If my
blood pressure is so STINKIN’ high why did it take so long for them to get the
blood to drip…one…drop…at...a…time. After all, don’t liquids under pressure
squirt instead of drip? WELL…DON’T THEY?
(Count to ten, count to ten, count to ten…remember the blood pressure.)
In only two short hours results were ready
for a return trip to Dra. Pena. She looked over the type-written – that’s right
the same high-tech lab who dripped my blood previously stayed the technological
course and typed the results onto
forms – and much to my surprise (insert sarcasm here) she said I had pneumonia
(can you learn that from a blood test?), high cholesterol, a minor parasite
leftover from a previous trip to any numbers of destinations, an infection in
my blood and my heart was working too hard (as a result of the asthma not
allowing my lungs to get enough oxygen into my blood.)
Her course of action for me was this: Take
these SEVEN pills (This is where I thought, “Man this is a lot of pills for
someone who is as healthy as I am!”) and one inhaler. Also, eat no pork, beef,
fried or greasy foods. Concentrate on broiled, grilled, baked or boiled fish
and chicken with lots of fruits and vegetables. Boiled? Really? Go see the
nurse again. Then see the pharmacist, get some exercise and return for a
check-up in a week. “Any questions?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “This new diet starts after
lunch today, right?”
I then went to the nurse who was once
again holding a syringe. I immediately dropped my pants and turned a full moon
in her direction. She screamed a whole bunch of, “No, no, nos” and a few “Dios
mios” before falling backwards into her chair. Turns out I didn’t need another shot after
all. I did, however, get two more breathing treatments.
In fact, I sat next to a 13-month-old who
received his treatment at the same time. I even held his hand so he wouldn’t
pull his mask away, as I cooed softly in English, “Cow puppy green door zombie
quack quack arrowhead.” I figured it didn’t matter what I said since no one
around me spoke any English.
Remember how I started with the title “What I
forgot to leave in Texas?” If you haven’t picked up it yet, the answer, in one
word is, “allergy-induced-asthma.” I wish I had left that in Texas. Next time I
will.
I am happy to report that I am feeling
better, deep into work again, and still taking my pills. As of this writing it
has been roughly 24 hours since my initial injection. My health issues are
nothing serious and I intend to take them head on. In fact, I took two walks
around town. The first ended up at a buffet. “Go figger,” as my father would
say.
