Vomiting is a spectator sport...

15.05.10

Today I woke up con ganas de comer (I was hungry). This was good news because yesterday I ate (almost) nothing. The story begins two days ago with a quick trip to Chalatenango (my shopping city). I was meeting up with a friend just to chat and have a cup or two of coffee. I had breakfast at a comedor that had been recommended to me on multiple occasions: platanos, huevos picados, 2 pupusas, y horchata (boiled plantains, scrambled eggs with onions and peppers, pupusas, & this yummy rice drink). I then did some shopping: I bought a set of glasses for a raffle prize, a nifty little thing to toast bread on the gas stove, a coffee cup, and a newspaper. I sat and read my newspaper and had two cups of coffee while chatting with a regular at the coffee shop. It turns out he is from Colombia and he is on sabbatical from working with indigenous groups in S. America. Then I met up with my friend and we ate lunch at Pollo Campero (El Salvador's cross between McDonalds & KFC). It was a last resort. Finding lunch in Chalate is difficult if you are a vegetarian. I had french fries.

It was at this point that I started feeling nauseous. I knew I hadn't drank very much water so I bought some water thinking that I would feel better. It was particularly hot that day, and so we stopped to get some ice cream. While eating my delicious chocolate cone, I knew something was wrong. I was dreading my bus ride, because as it is, I get car sick. I sat at the front of the bus so that I could see the road and be near the door in case I had to run to vomit out the side of the bus. Before we left, I advised the woman next to me and behind me that I was sick and I might vomit. The woman behind me asked me if I had a plastic bag (which all women carry at all times in this country, so of course I should have had one). I said no, so she of course gave me one of the many she had. Thank goodness for that black plastic bag, because I wouldn't have made it to the door. Even if I had, I probably would have fallen out the bus. I threw up a lot. I, in fact, filled the bag and then threw it out the window. No big deal.

After that I felt better, I thought I was done, but really it was just beginning. I got off the bus in my pueblo to sit in the air conditioning at the mayor's office before hiking out to my site. As soon as I got off the bus I found a bush behind the tienda on the corner, and threw up again. This time the woman who runs the tienda sat there watching me barf, awkward, and asking me questions. “¿Que tiene? ¿Gripe?” (What do you have? Cold/Flu?) I looked up at her, shrugged my shoulders, and continued to barf in the bush.

I spent the next hour in the mayor's office while they tried to tell me what caused my illness and what I should do to get rid of it. They all wanted me to go to the doctor, and I tried to explain to them that I have to go to San Salvador if I want to see a doctor. They didn't seem to understand why I couldn't go see their doctor. Also, the concept that salt and lime wasn't going to fix what I had. (Lime and salt can be used to cure both nausea and rabies apparently...) Them- “¿Why haven't you taken alka seltzer?” Me- “I think what I have might be worse than alka seltzer....”

Someone was going to give me a ride home because I was to weak to hike home. We made it two blocks until he had to stop and eject me from the car vomiting on the side of the road, yet again. Two young guys in the car, me vomiting and wretching (gracefully of course) on the side of the road. Them- “¡Chelsea, agua!” Me- ...I signal 'give me a minute' with the wonderful hand gesture I have picked up and continue to dry heave. But wait... there's more.

We continue towards my house, but two blocks later, the car shakes and jerks to the left while my driver yells lots of bad words in spanish. So I'm now sitting on the side of the road, sick, and the tire is falling off and the car is leaking oil. I have no idea what happened, but it looked like after all of that, I was still going to be walking home. A group of women from my cantón (the part of the pueblo I live in) walked by, so I decided to walk with them. They carried the bags I had with me, and we walked very slowly. I made it home thirsty and tired and nauseous. I told my host mom I was sick and she tells me “You're sick because you don't eat anything! It's because you don't eat tortillas.” I was at my wits end at this point and tired of all of their predictions about why I was sick, and this one was the worst of all. I explained to her as nice as I could. That you don't get food poisoning or amoebas or parasites from NOT eating. In fact it is exactly the opposite. I ATE something that made me sick. I tried to explain to her that I don't eat tortillas because they make me fat and that I eat Clif bars because they have nutrients in them that the food here does not have...then I take a break and barf in the yard. But at this point all I am throwing up is water and gatorade, so she says “look, its all water, it's because you don't eat anything...” Explanations useless. Yes I am going to die because I don't eat tortillas or greasy food.

So after throwing up 4 times in 4 hours I decided to call Peace Corps medical. The rule is: If you can't hold down water, you need to call. They told me to take drink some rehydration fluid from my medical kit and then in the morning they would come pick me up. I tossed and turned all night, sweating out whatever fluid was left in my body. I woke up and spent the whole next day nauseous, not eating. However, I did not go to San Sal because I wasn't throwing up anymore. I had an event on Saturday that I didn't want to miss so I took the chance and stayed.

So when I woke up today feeling better, I figured I just had food poisoning. What a relief.

So now I am heading to my youth group event. We are doing a raffle and selling food to raise money for a project TBA. I am thankful that I did not have to go to San Sal and miss my youth event.

So next time you have a stomach ache in the States and you are curled up on your cozy couch in your pajamas or sitting on the floor of your clean bathroom throwing up, just think to yourself it could be worse. You could be puking into a plastic bag on a rickety bus, or sitting on the side of the road, or puking into your latrine surrounded by cockroaches to keep you company. At least in the States puking is not a spectator sport.

Love you¡

Chels