Regarding stomach problems...

WARNING: The following entry contains graphic and disturbing descriptions of the things that can happen to one's digestive tract when traveling in the developing world. Proceed with caution.
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It all started very early on a Wednesday morning. I had been back in the city for a few days since visiting my site, and was getting ready to graduate on Thursday, and move out to the country on Friday. I had to get up around five thirty in order to make it all the way to the heart of the city for important meetings that were scheduled to last all day. My alarm clock sounded, I arose, and folded up my mosquito net. Suddenly I had a feeling that is best described as one of extremely urgent pressure in the lower regions of my intestines. I am not talking about the kind of pressure where you say "Oh, I should visit the bathroom in the next little while." No. This was the kind where I thought to myself "If I don't RUN to the bathroom I will soon have a situation on the floor that I would rather not try to explain to my host mother." So I ran, and made it to the commode.

The next few minutes involved a series of minor explosions that are not a regular part of my bodily cycle. Uh oh. Apparently I had eaten something that my body did not like. My assessment was proved correct when a few minutes later I found myself shedding liquid from the other end of my body.

You know a day is going to be rough when you both vomit and experience diarrhea before six oclock in the morning. I could have gone back to bed and avoided having to do anything that day. No meetings, no travel on packed and uncomfortable public transport. Just my bed, a toilet close by, and a concerned host family to keep me full of soda and saltines. I could have chosen that, but you've already probably guessed that I didn't. I am not very good at listening to my body when it tells me to rest. If there is work to be done, then gosh darn it I will roll up my sleeves and do it. Not snow, nor sleet, nor hurricanes, nor diarrhea will prevent me from doing my duty for Uncle Sam. Besides, what kind of a story would it have made if I'd just gone back to bed?

So I got dressed, filled my nalgene with oral rehydration fluid, and headed out into the world, despite the adamant protests of my host family. I had taken some pepto, so the forty five minute walk to the training center passed without incident, though I did visit the bathroom immediately upon arriving. The hour and a half ride into the city was a different story. I was packed onto a bus with thirty of my companions for a bumper to bumper, stop and go claustrophobic experience that might well have made me nauseous under normal circumstances. As I sat there with my gut sounding like a particularly morbid sort of orchestra I found myself thinking about those Buddhist monks who can concentrate to the point of making themselves immune to physical distractions. I have never before put more focused mental energy into controlling the actions of my body. It was exhausting, but I succeeded. I made it to the bathroom at the Peace Corps office in down town, and fortunately there was a doctor in the house. She gave me some pills that helped, but at the end of the day I had visited five different bathrooms for a total of nine individual trips.

It was four days until the flow subsided, with each day a little easier than the last. During this time I managed to finish my training, pass a bunch of exams, attend my swearing in ceremony, pack, and move ALL of my stuff to my new home in a remote village on the far side of the country (via public transport). I was ready to sleep for a week, and also very glad that I was now able to take solid food. A mountain of rice, beans, plantains, mangoes, and other assorted tropical goodies was waiting for me, so I am gaining back a little bit of the weight that the disease took from me. And avocado season is right around the corner so I will be eating much more. I recently tried describing the idea of guacamole to my family, and they thought it sounded weird. I guess I can do a little cultural exchange as soon as that fruit ripens.

As always, thanks for reading.