Turns out I don't have an iron stomach. Yep, the hospital, it happened all over again. I'd been a little sick on and off since I arrived in Bolivia, but nothing out of the ordinary considering how different the food was. Then I got really sick. The school insisted I go to the hospital to get checked out. They said I had amoebas, the same thing I had in Cambodia, and sent me home with some medication. I felt lucky, as I wasn't nearly as sick as in Cambodia. I felt better the next morning, that is until I felt worse, and when I say worse I mean the kind of sick that makes you wish you would stop living. After two days of not being able to keep a cracker or even a sip of water in my stomach the family insisted I go to the emergency room.
I had to check into the hospital so I could have IV fluids. The owner of the school made sure I was settled into my room before leaving and said they were just going to observe me and get me re-hydrated till the next day. The room was much the same as one in the US except I was sharing with a very old Bolivian woman. And the hospital was much the same also, well except that one one spoke English. Yes, I had learned quite a bit of Spanish since I'd been in Bolivia, but definitely nothing medical and I only met one person in the entire hospital who spoke English. This became a problem when they came into my room and wheeled me through the hospital into a basement where I saw a half a dozen other people passed out on beds. I couldn't understand what was going on and started to get quite upset. Finally, I met that one doctor who spoke
English. He informed me I was going to have an endoscopy, at which point I got even more upset. They had me sign some paperwork, but of course I had no idea what I was signing. Then they came at me with a couple syringes they said would put me to sleep. I have only been put under once before and it was not a pleasant experience, so I said a quick I love you to my family in my head and fell asleep. I woke up a couple hours later and after another day in the hospital everything turned out fine. I still have no idea what was wrong with me because the doctor changed his diagnosis every time he saw me, but I'm feeling much better.
For the week following the hospital I wasn't allowed to eat anything but chicken soup and crackers - I won't be eating either one of those for a very long time. I have since joked with my Bolivian family that something good had to have come from the lack of food, that I had to have lost five pounds. They all looked at me very matter of factly and informed me I did not. I am choosing to think I did.
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