The Moaning Contest

It started immediately after the drop off of my family at the airport on April 5. Two hours in the heat-ridden cab with a running fever did me no good whatsoever. The Gatorade I lunged for at the local gas station on the way back was way too little too late. As I rolled into my house in the late morning heat, my first instinct was to get the heck out of there and find some A/C to cool down. I trucked my way back to the internet cafe, where I bought myself two hours before hitting rock bottom.

As I rolled into my house again, this time with about 20 visitors who were over for Sunday lunch, I did what I could to ignore everyone and headed straight to my room. So, there I was, inside my room in 95 degree weather, stripped down to my underwear and curled up into a ball under my mosquito net, shivering as if I was lying on a bed of ice. Of the six brain cells that were probably still functioning in my head at the time, five of them were telling me to go to the doctor, while the other just told me to fall asleep. I listened to the majority and headed out the door once again, to a nearby doctor recommended by my organization.

Just being around that white coat lifted up my spirits, but it didn't change the fact that my hydration level was suffering. As the medico slipped some oral hydration packets into my hand, I was reminded of a book I had read while in Nicaragua about the life saving importance of this substance. No doubt, the packets lifted me up immediately, but unfortunately on that particular afternoon I was up against more than whatever was contaminating my system. I was up against the birthday party my host mother was having.

I assumed my host mother's birthday would be like my host father's a few weeks prior. Not a big-to-do. Just a few family members over to share a laugh and cut a cake. But, of course, this one had to be different. Not only did the number of guests at the house balloon from 20 to 40, but my family also hired a band to play in our backyard. Since my little detached room is in the backyard, I basically sat there, with water, oral hydration packets, antibiotics, and fever - as the marching band played outside my door for 3 hours.

There is often no option, especially when you're sick in a developing country, but to take it one step at a time and hope the next day brings something better. This happened for me, as I went to the clinic, drew some body samples, and received some new medication.

Then Wednesday night came.

After completing the second dose of a strong medication with side effects, I started to feel a little on the downside again. My appetite was disappearing, my nausea was increasing, and my body was aching. For whatever reason I will never fully comprehend, my host family saw it acceptable to feed me beans for dinner. I politely declined this offering and set out to the supermarket to buy myself some instant soup. It didn't matter what I chose, because by 11 PM I was basically building a campfire around the toilet bowl.

I tried the change-in-location technique. Falling asleep on various parts of my bed. Attempting some shut-eye on the outside porch. I even took my pillow and blanket to the bathroom with me, just hoping that the proximity would cure my pain. By 1 Am I had just about lost it, and accepted that I would not be getting any sleep that night. In an act of desperation, I called the one person I knew who would be awake at that time, my friend in medical school 9 time zones away. While he did his best to reassure me, his pep talk only bought me an additional 10 minutes. I had no choice but to wake up my host family, who with connections got me to the ER within 5 minutes. Finally...someone who could possibly put me to sleep.

How could I go to the ER in Nicaragua? Well...like in the US, it's always a last resort. And the doctor was there waiting, asking me what was wrong, what I did for a living, what medication I was taking, and ordering me to a bed. He even found it necessary to keep me distracted as the tubes went in, asking me in detail what it took to get a micro-loan.

Withing 20 minutes of arriving in the ER, and after receiving some fluids and meds to kill the pain, I finally found myself falling asleep.

Until the other guy arrived.

He was probably a few years younger than I, surely Nicaraguan, and for some reason had a container of some food product pressed up against his lower right abdomen. I didn't have a clue what was wrong, but before I knew it another doctor had rushed in, asked him about his pain, and pursued the same protocol and stuck him in the bed two down from me.

I'm not sure what it is about moaning, but for some reason it serves as an audible release that some people feel necessary to either express pain or relieve pain. I guess it is kind of like sneezing, in that every person has a personal style. Regardless, this kid felt it necessary to moan so loud as to keep me awake for the next few hours. Having done my fair share of moaning earlier in the night, I felt the noises contagiously spreading, and before I knew it I was moaning as well.

He moaned. I moaned. He moaned. I moaned. It was like we were taking turns chucking 100 pound barbels to each other. And since there was no nurse to witness our display, it carried on and on and on. Finally, at around 4 in the morning and after moaning for about 30 minutes, I made an adjustment and turned on my side. For whatever reason, this eliminated the pain I was feeling. And my moaning finally ceased. Unfortunately, my roommate 2 beds down was compensating for me - and even started screaming for help.

So there we were, two boys tied to IV's in the ER of Masaya screaming...Ayuda! Enfermera! He was screaming for himself. I was screaming on his behalf, and frankly, just to have him stop moaning. I don't know exactly what time it was, but at some point he finally got an injection to kill the pain. I, on the other hand, finally got the sleep I had been longing for, a whopping 3 hours before they sent me home.

So since then? And what now?

That I do not know. After that memorable night and a rescue effort from my Dad to provide the necessary support and care, there was no other logical option but to recuperate from real home. A logical option it certainly is, but it definitely makes you think: what fortune to have options at all.