Clash of the Amoebas

Warning: Graphic descriptions of poop ahead

When I went to work this morning, I felt like I had been hit by a bus.  Or an 18 wheeler.  Or the whole Ringling Brothers and Barnum Bailey Circus.  And I was pissed about it.  Had I not done nothing but sleep since Monday night?  Had I not drowned myself in fluids?  I should be getting better, not worse!  By 8:30 my superintendent Carmen took one look at me and sent me home. Call it Mom's 7th sense, but she knew shit was getting real.  Literally.  At home I slept on and off between the many noises that constantly grace the Caracas landscape- children playing, renovations, reggatone emanating from apartment windows, conversations had four decibels too loud.  Around 10, my housecleaner arrived, and god bless her, she knows less English than I do Spanish.  Thankfully, the school secretary had called her and prepped her for my situation.  She stared furtively into my refridgerador and then out tumbled a mass of Venezuelan Spanish that I could not understand even to save my own life.  She got the school secretary, Lourdes, on the phone.  

"Tracey, you have nothing healthy in your refrigerator   I told her to make you a soup, but you have nothing to cook with."

"Lourdes, I live off of turkey sandwiches, beer, and cereal".

"Tracey, this will not help your situation- give her Bs 300 and send her to the store."

::Tracey makes walk of shame to her wallet and laments total lack of kitchen skills::

Through our exchanges with Lourdes, word must have gotten back that my condition was deteriorating   I didn't say anything, but I guess, like always, I am more obvious than not.  And indeed, the stomach cramps were becoming more severe and nausea was setting in, punctuated by strange stabbing feelings in my back and joints.  

Carmen called around 2pm and said "I think it's time I take you to the doctor".  Not wanting to overreact, I hemmed a bit, claiming I could sleep it out until tomorrow, while really I was thinking THERE IS SOMETHING F---ING WRONG WITH ME OMG AM I GOING TO DIE OF VENEZUELAN PLAGUE!!!!

Carmen saw past my hemming and told me to get dressed and get outside.  So I did, painstakingly, but ever so gladly.

And so, in less than three weeks since my arrival, I ended up in a Venezuelan hospital.  Had I been on my own, I would have likely sat for 12 hours and ended up getting diagnosed with chlamydia and died of Venezuelan plague.  But since I was with Carmen, I lived to tell this tale.  She sat me in the waiting room of an internist's office.  She left for ten minutes, returned, and five minutes later we were called back.  Dude was IN THE MIDDLE OF ANOTHER APPOINTMENT, stopped what he was doing, examined me, pushed on my stomach, declared that I was fit to return home but that I most definitely was suffering from a bacterial stomach episode.  Then he went back to his previous appointment.

I asked Carmen how long I must live in this country in order to do the magic she does.  She said, as long as she is around, I will never have to. God I love this woman.

In and out we were from the lab, taking a stool sample and bloodwork.  Then to the pharmacy, where Carmen locked me in her minivan and went to work her magic again, returning with all three medicines I was prescribed- a miracle in shortage-driven Caracas.  In under two hours, Carmen had saved my digestive track from an untimely death. She said that I must be the lucky one, because the ease of our adventure was unheard of.  I told her it wasn't luck- it was the armor of Jesus because my Mom prays for me so gosh darn much!

Back home, my housekeeper had just finished making the most delicious chicken soup I had ever had....not to mention she somehow procured a large pot from somewhere, because gosh knows I have not spent the time stocking my kitchenwares.  With my Cipro and Fadigyn by my side, with my soup, and god bless my house cleaner, a freshly made bed, I figured I just might survive my first bout with the 3rd world stomach ilk.

Around 6, Carmen called to ensure I had taken my meds as prescribed, and also confirmed that the lab results indicated I was indeed the host of a bacterial family that was tearing up my innards.  How she managed to get lab results in three hours, well, I guess she's just good like that.  And I am so lucky to have a second Mom in Caracas.  Being blessed with Carmen will also help my Mom sleep better at night!  Speaking of sleep, it's about time to rest and let that Cipro do it's dirty work.  Begone bacteria!  I have a job to do and weekend fun to have!