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Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Third Time's a Charm

It became clear last night that my continuing lack of appetite and energy was not a holdover effect from the latest bout of fun with high altitude. After several trips to the bathroom produced unfortunate results, I realised my body had entered a competition to get sick as many times as possible on this vacation without first asking me what I thought of the idea.

So today, heading past living phone boxes - men and women charging by the minute to use the cellphones chained to their wrists - I went to the hospital to find out why my stomach was making life difficult. Tacna, being the southernmost city in Peru, is where "Chileans come for cheap medical and dental treatment," Anne's guide book informed me. "Perfect," I thought, "there's sure to be lots of high quality medical care available." I was happily ignorant that most of this was bound to be found in private clinics, rather than the general hospital I went to.

It's not easy for me to understand rapid Spanish, even less so when the goal is decoding a hospital bureaucracy where the first step is knowing to flag down a busy nurse who gives you a piece of paper to hand to a cashier in a separate part of the building, a place I discovered after stopping at 3 separate desks along the way.

However, as if someone on high was mocking me, one of the few words I did understand was "muestra". Knowing that "mostrar" means "to show", "muestra" struck fear into my heart. Sure enough, after a consultation with my dictionary, the English word "sample" materialised before my eyes. They needed me to collect a sample of what was causing my stomach so much difficulty, one of the least appealing things you can ask someone in a bad mood cause by lack of food to do. A mood enhanced after waiting outside the closed door of the testing lab, only to see a doctor open the door and walk in, revealing a lab technician behind the desk happily ignoring my repeated knocks.

I spent many subsequent hours bouncing between the consultation office, testing lab, cashier, and hospital pharmacy, where you must buy the relevant supplies and medication for the medical staff to administer you with. I also visited several pharmacies out front of the hospital, because obviously the hospital pharmacy itself shouldn't be expected to stock something so esoteric as a syringe.

Seeing my sour expression, the lady across the counter in one nearby pharmacy decided what I needed was cheering up, so she happily returned my syringe prescription with a needle, the size of which is commonly found in children's nightmares. I lugged it back to the hospital and gave it to a nurse who filled it with the medical fluids I had purchased and proceeded to inject me with it.

Over the course of the 5 or so minutes it took to expel the liquid into my arm, she told me how she hoped to visit the US one day, and how the US embassy had refused her visa request on a previous attempt. I listened sympathetically, while simultaneously hoping she wouldn't break the needle in anger at my country's refusal to let her in its borders.

I left the hospital with pills to take for 5 days, and a large drink meant to replenish lost vitamins and minerals. It tastes like a cross between liquorice and Gatorade, and I've taken to calling it "devil's brew".

The injection must have done some good as I have already regained the ability to eat more than a few bites of food, the disappearance of which handily undid in several days what took many months of sweat and toil in the gym to gain.

I topped the day off with a 1-2 knockout that started with a celebratory trip to the hairdresser's. I was asked to pick my haircut out of a magazine showing a multitude of hairstyles for men, all with so much oil they could have been sponsored by the Bush administration. As usual, my hair came out looking nothing like any of them, and for once I was glad.

I concluded with a wash at the hostel. The shower stall was the latest in a long line of whose designers omitted any kind of shelf, thereby assuming the washer possesses the abilities of a master circus juggler. As always, I opted to store soap and razor outside on the sink, in the process making the floor soaking wet. It's a technique guaranteed to make yourself known, if not popular, amongst fellow patrons. Other entries in this category include donning a dress for a pub quiz in the first year of university and clapping loudly at what I mistakenly thought was the end of a live classical concert.

Now feeling better, tomorrow's plan is to cross the border to Chile in the morning. Then I'll prepare to traverse the northern region, alternately described to me as containing "nothing", "desert", and "absolutely nothing".

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Some adventures one can well do without -- but obviously that's not the route you're taking. Personally, I think that having your hair cut was your big mistake. As every good boy who has read the bible knows, when Delila cut Samson's hair, he lost all his strength.
Hoping you gain yours back quicker than it takes your hair to grow ;-)
Lol, M

colinjwarren said...

Sorry to hear you may be depriving Delhi doctors of some business, but glad that you are doing the needful as regards your intestines. I'm impressed with your old technology photos - they look good. I'm a-wondering how you got them into digital form.

Now that you are back eating again, perhaps you would like to join Jess, Carlos and me (and 13 other guests) for the Thaksgiving feast that is under preparation? The pavo has been roasting for 2-1/2 hours and has another 2-1/2 to go, Jess is struggling with red cabbage on the stove top, and she and Carlos baked pumpkin and apple pies yesterday. I serve as cheap imported South Asian labour, but with plastic surgery skills in sewing up a stuffed turkey. Weather outside is suitably cold and wet, ideal for sitting in front of the fire feeling stuffed, as we hope to be soon.

Hope your bus ride is OK, and that the pills do the trick!

Ool, D (plus J & C).