"I'm really worried about Tara. We may need to bring her to the ER and stick an IV in her if she loses any more fluids."
I overheard Oscar say this to the fellow volunteers on his Finca (farm) during dinner. It sparked a discussion over what it is that they should do with me.
"Damnit," I thought as I lied limp on the couch the next open-air room over. "I don't even want to get up. I don't want to fight it anymore." I was taking Oscar's advice, picturing my army of white blood cells strapped with AK-47s, fumigating and blasting out the nasty parasite that somehow, most likely through Minca's highly contaminated water, found its way inside me. I wondered if Oscar had ever heard George Carlin's stand-up, "You're All Diseased." I at least pretended, and that gave me a bit more comfort.
"Yea," Oscar continued, "I hope we don't need to take her. We still gotta get that damn lice out of her hair!"
Shit! The lice! I had almost forgotten to deal with that through the sickly haze.
Minca is the most wonderful place I have been on my travels. But as I lie there on the couch, I wondered when the bouts of sickness would ever end. Had I pushed my body too hard for the past four months, and it was finally catching up to me? My immune system seems shot. Or is it just the mountain town with poor hygiene that's doing all this? The viruses spread, and I seem to catch each one. It's not too normal. Migraines, colds, fevers, puking. Life is definitely sending me a physical challenge that I need to tackle right now. Luckily the foreign place I'm in is filled with genuine people who care to help me redeem my health.
That night, (un)fortunately, some women came from the Amazon and Santa Marta to perform a drum circle on Oscar's property, in an attempt to ring in the closing circle of the Mayan calendar. It was my night, and I was escaping every five minutes to the bathroom, until I just let myself collapse on the couch, licking salt.
But the women came to me after the ceremony.
"Hi beautiful," they surrounded me. "Are you ok?" I felt one of them lightly place their hand on my head, I'm guessing in an attempt to spread energy. I sure felt whatever it was.
"Hi. Thank you," I replied weakly.
One of the women gave me a root, from Bolivia, which is supposed to scare off those little parasitic creatures hiding in my belly. They made me tea mixed with countless spices while Oscar jotted down the recipes I needed for the next few days.
So now I'm drinking a bitter root from Bolivia that is supposed to heal me better than an antibiotic. And yes, I'm taking my chances. I also got that crazy blue shampoo that's supposed to kill off the lice.
I love Minca. But in a few days, it's time to escape and relax for awhile! Luckily I'm on the Caribbean. I could perhaps be the luckiest girl in the world.
I overheard Oscar say this to the fellow volunteers on his Finca (farm) during dinner. It sparked a discussion over what it is that they should do with me.
"Damnit," I thought as I lied limp on the couch the next open-air room over. "I don't even want to get up. I don't want to fight it anymore." I was taking Oscar's advice, picturing my army of white blood cells strapped with AK-47s, fumigating and blasting out the nasty parasite that somehow, most likely through Minca's highly contaminated water, found its way inside me. I wondered if Oscar had ever heard George Carlin's stand-up, "You're All Diseased." I at least pretended, and that gave me a bit more comfort.
"Yea," Oscar continued, "I hope we don't need to take her. We still gotta get that damn lice out of her hair!"
Shit! The lice! I had almost forgotten to deal with that through the sickly haze.
Minca is the most wonderful place I have been on my travels. But as I lie there on the couch, I wondered when the bouts of sickness would ever end. Had I pushed my body too hard for the past four months, and it was finally catching up to me? My immune system seems shot. Or is it just the mountain town with poor hygiene that's doing all this? The viruses spread, and I seem to catch each one. It's not too normal. Migraines, colds, fevers, puking. Life is definitely sending me a physical challenge that I need to tackle right now. Luckily the foreign place I'm in is filled with genuine people who care to help me redeem my health.
That night, (un)fortunately, some women came from the Amazon and Santa Marta to perform a drum circle on Oscar's property, in an attempt to ring in the closing circle of the Mayan calendar. It was my night, and I was escaping every five minutes to the bathroom, until I just let myself collapse on the couch, licking salt.
But the women came to me after the ceremony.
"Hi beautiful," they surrounded me. "Are you ok?" I felt one of them lightly place their hand on my head, I'm guessing in an attempt to spread energy. I sure felt whatever it was.
"Hi. Thank you," I replied weakly.
One of the women gave me a root, from Bolivia, which is supposed to scare off those little parasitic creatures hiding in my belly. They made me tea mixed with countless spices while Oscar jotted down the recipes I needed for the next few days.
So now I'm drinking a bitter root from Bolivia that is supposed to heal me better than an antibiotic. And yes, I'm taking my chances. I also got that crazy blue shampoo that's supposed to kill off the lice.
I love Minca. But in a few days, it's time to escape and relax for awhile! Luckily I'm on the Caribbean. I could perhaps be the luckiest girl in the world.
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