July 16, 2008
The Big D
1, Probiotics 0
Warning: This post is not for the faint of heart.
Last Sunday evening my karindash (kah-rin-dahsh), my host family’s daughter, took me guesting. This is where you visit friends or relatives and, of course, you eat food. Nobody cares that you may have just eaten a huge meal two hours ago. You will eat again. I had met this cousin and was excited to see him because he speaks English fairly well. All the food was familiar and tasty. But, by midnight, I knew something was wrong. So, I grabbed my trusty flashlight and headed to the outhouse. It was the first of at least fifteen trips that night. It got so bad that I slept outside on a rusty old metal bed with a thin pad so I would be halfway to the outhouse when nature called (which was about every ten minutes). By morning I had eliminated everything I had inside, solid and liquid. Next on the agenda would have to be internal organs. As an encore to the evening, as I was walking to wash my hands after another visit to the loo, a bird decided to drop a bomb as it flew overhead and it landed on my arm. From the amount of the you-know-what, I determined it came from a condor. I was also so weak, I felt like I'd just gone a few rounds with Ali in his prime.
I called the PC doctor. He said to drink 2 liters of rehydration salts and chew Pepto Bismol tablets. I hung up from him and promptly threw up. Where that came from I don't know. Some reserve tank, I guess. Same thing happened an hour after I drank the rehydration salt powder. I knew this was going to be a blue, blue Monday. Maybe now is the time to say I may have been misinformed about the effectiveness of probiotics, because they got hammered by whatever caused my GI troubles. On the flip side, the best advice I received before arriving here was to bring black underwear. ‘Nuff said.
My entire solid intake for the day was a slice of nan (bread) and ½ cup of boiled rice. The next day's diet would be a repeat. By Tuesday evening I began to feel some hope. My movements now resembled a soup made by Campbell's that you can eat with a fork. Let me tell you this was real progress. By Wednesday morning I was feeling human again.
Wednesday afternoon found me at a gathering of all the PC trainees. I learned the PC grapevine works like broadband internet. Everybody knew I'd been sick. I also found out that in the past five days about 40 other trainees had suffered from the same malady I had, some even worse (I can't imagine what they must have endured!!!). In New York, I often heard people ask new acquaintances, What's your neighborhood? or What do you do for a living? In the PC it's, Hey, I heard the news, man. How bad was it?
This was my first “What the hell am I doing here?” moment. But, now that I am healthy again, I know what I’m doing here and I can't wait to get started.
For the curious amongst you, my torture was caused by some mayonnaise in an appetizer that was overexposed to the heat.
Last Sunday evening my karindash (kah-rin-dahsh), my host family’s daughter, took me guesting. This is where you visit friends or relatives and, of course, you eat food. Nobody cares that you may have just eaten a huge meal two hours ago. You will eat again. I had met this cousin and was excited to see him because he speaks English fairly well. All the food was familiar and tasty. But, by midnight, I knew something was wrong. So, I grabbed my trusty flashlight and headed to the outhouse. It was the first of at least fifteen trips that night. It got so bad that I slept outside on a rusty old metal bed with a thin pad so I would be halfway to the outhouse when nature called (which was about every ten minutes). By morning I had eliminated everything I had inside, solid and liquid. Next on the agenda would have to be internal organs. As an encore to the evening, as I was walking to wash my hands after another visit to the loo, a bird decided to drop a bomb as it flew overhead and it landed on my arm. From the amount of the you-know-what, I determined it came from a condor. I was also so weak, I felt like I'd just gone a few rounds with Ali in his prime.
I called the PC doctor. He said to drink 2 liters of rehydration salts and chew Pepto Bismol tablets. I hung up from him and promptly threw up. Where that came from I don't know. Some reserve tank, I guess. Same thing happened an hour after I drank the rehydration salt powder. I knew this was going to be a blue, blue Monday. Maybe now is the time to say I may have been misinformed about the effectiveness of probiotics, because they got hammered by whatever caused my GI troubles. On the flip side, the best advice I received before arriving here was to bring black underwear. ‘Nuff said.
My entire solid intake for the day was a slice of nan (bread) and ½ cup of boiled rice. The next day's diet would be a repeat. By Tuesday evening I began to feel some hope. My movements now resembled a soup made by Campbell's that you can eat with a fork. Let me tell you this was real progress. By Wednesday morning I was feeling human again.
Wednesday afternoon found me at a gathering of all the PC trainees. I learned the PC grapevine works like broadband internet. Everybody knew I'd been sick. I also found out that in the past five days about 40 other trainees had suffered from the same malady I had, some even worse (I can't imagine what they must have endured!!!). In New York, I often heard people ask new acquaintances, What's your neighborhood? or What do you do for a living? In the PC it's, Hey, I heard the news, man. How bad was it?
This was my first “What the hell am I doing here?” moment. But, now that I am healthy again, I know what I’m doing here and I can't wait to get started.
For the curious amongst you, my torture was caused by some mayonnaise in an appetizer that was overexposed to the heat.
The Peace Corps' diet for volunteers suffering from diarrhea consists of BRAT. This is not the German sausage. Also will tell about a couple of volunteers that had gastrointestinal problems worse and longer than me.
