The Real Me

As evidenced by my short thesis on chicken life several posts back, my day to day here leaves me with plenty (sometimes too much) time to think and reflect. And lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my perception of reality through the lens of this experience. I know, that sounds pretentious, but stick with me.

I constantly find myself prefacing statements with “in real life”, such as “In real life I enjoy spending time outside.” Or “In real life I love being a teacher”. But suddenly it dawned on me that this is real life. I am not asleep or lying in a coma somewhere imagining all this (at least I hope I’m not)—this is real. And I suppose it’s due to the fact that this life I lead now is not my normal or my permanent set-up that I tend  to separate it from reality. But that is a foolish premise, because what I see and do and experience every day is very much a part of my reality, and will surely continue to shape me as an individual for the foreseeable future. Just because my current surroundings are wildly different from those waiting for me stateside does not negate or diminish their importance or value. 

But that got me thinking more about these seemingly parallel universes that I am living in between. One in which a magic metal box rinses and washes my clothes for me while I casually flip channels, and another where I beat my clothing with a wooden paddle. Which leading lady is the real me? Is there even an answer to that question? I think the deeper question here is:  are you the person you are while surrounded by the comforts of home or are you what’s left when everything is stripped away?

That last question has been lurking in the back of my brain for weeks, and I’m still not sure what the answer is. I’d like to say it’s the latter—that we, as people amount to our core belief systems and elements of character that cannot be altered by a change of scenery. However, while I’ve been here in Pohnpei for the past year (holy hell, has it really been that long?), I’ve encountered situations and experienced emotions that I never have before in America. In some of those times I behaved in “Christy” ways, handling circumstances in similar ways that I might have in America. But other times I completely surprised myself (in both good and bad ways) by my reactions. For example, in some ways I have become very shy since coming here; more soft-spoken, hesitant to join groups of people or speak to strangers, and preferring to spend quiet time alone. But at other times I can be incredibly self-assured; speaking my mind to figures of authority, sticking to my convictions, and being frighteningly direct in confrontation. Both of these alter-egos are very different from the “me” I remember. So is this now the “real me” or the “me” that I left behind?

I sometimes joke with some of the other Volunteers that I’m not sure any of us would be friends in real life (again, “real life”) if it weren’t for Peace Corps. Partly because it is likely we would never have met otherwise, but also because we are just dramatically different as individuals. But here we get along and function well as friends. This concept fascinates me. Do we adjust our criteria for friendship here because there is such a scarcity of candidates? (Probably.) Or do we change and evolve (perhaps temporarily) into the friend each other needs? (Also a possibility.) 

So then I come to a moderately satisfying conclusion: we are simply not the same people now as we were at the beginning. This seems obvious; of course being a Peace Corps Volunteer changes you. If you come out of this unchanged, I don’t think you did it right. But the more interesting question is what happens when the person you’ve become in the Peace Corps collides with the person you left behind in America at the end of two years? Do you revert back to what’s comfortable and familiar (leading to the confirmation that the person you were is the “real you”)? Or do you continue on, a stranger in your own life (implying that you are in fact what’s left once you’ve lost it all)? Which is right? Neither? Both? 

Maybe there is no way to define “the real you”. Maybe it is constantly changing and evolving without our noticing. Maybe. Maybe the real me is this girl I’ve become. The girl who squashes cockroaches without even looking up from her computer (true story: that just happened approximately 10 minutes ago). Or who watches a pig slaughter without even the slightest grimace. Or who can play with children and not notice that they’re naked. Or who can have long conversations with respected men who also have no teeth and are in dire need of a shower and not think it is strange. Maybe. 

But maybe I want to go back to a cockroach-free world where people wear clothes, practice proper hygiene, and refrain from killing animals in their backyards. Maybe I don’t want to accept these things as reality. 

How’s that for the “real me”?

Just some thoughts. Stay well over there in the “real world”.

--Christy

Camp GLOW

Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is a worldwide Peace Corps initiative designed to educate and empower girls living in predominately male-oriented societies. Our Camp GLOW here on Pohnpei took place just last week for three days and two nights with 110 8^th grade girls from all over the island. Yes, it was chaotic, and yes plenty went horribly and completely wrong, but yes indeed the girls had fun and accidently learned a lot. I think we can officially call it a success.

Preparing for and facilitating this camp made me realize how lucky we are in America to have such a comfort level with discussing issues such as puberty, hygiene, teen pregnancy, and STDs. Here, that is far from the case. For most girls, the first time they learn about menstruation is the first time they get their periods. And even then, the explanation from their mothers (if the girl even has the courage to ask) is simply that it happens once a month. No details. This is due in part to the fact that discussing menstruation is a social taboo, but also because it is likely that the mothers themselves honestly do not understand it themselves (probably because their mothers never told them…). It makes the awkward talks given to 5^th graders around the nation as they put condoms on bananas not seem so unnecessary.

So I drew a picture of a uterus and ovaries (an artistic masterpiece, I might add), and we taught the girls about what is happening in their bodies. (We were going to have it translated, but couldn't because there literally are no words in Pohnpeian for the female sex organs, because there is just no scientific understanding of those body parts). We had speakers come in and teach the girls about STD’s and the importance of safe sex. We had sobering discussions about rape and sexual assault. We demonstrated, amidst generous laughter, proper personal hygiene. And we answered countless questions about pregnancy. These girls are full of questions and concerns, but never before had a venue in which to comfortably and safely articulate them. It was humbling to realize that I personally had a huge hand in these girls’ personal education. I also taught them the chicken dance, so obviously I made a giant impact.

And woven in between the teaching, the girls just got to be kids. They swam, played games and sports, made bracelets, and completed team building activities. There was even a dance competition and party that was met with huge enthusiasm. And six exhausted Peace Corps Volunteers and six exhausted but equally amazing local women who volunteered to help happily boarded the buses when it was time to go home. (I slept roughly 14 hours the following night.)

So I am happy to say I survived my first Camp GLOW, with roughly one thousands mosquito bites to show for it. And despite late busses, no-show presenters, pouring rain, cooking fiascos, and several acts of delinquency, the Camp was largely a success. My teammates and I learned a lot, and we are confident that next year’s Camp GLOW will be even better.

Here are the girls that I brought from my school and I after we got our camp shirts:

 

Stay well,
Christy

A Lull in Enthusiasm

Hello out there. I know it’s been a long time since my last post, and the reason is simple: I didn’t feel like writing. The last few months have been difficult and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.

I suppose there comes a time in each Peace Corps Volunteer’s service when it all finally catches up with them. The fun, excitement, novelty, and sense of adventure are no longer enough to cover the overwhelming feelings of loneliness and dissatisfaction. I have finally come to that point, just weeks before my one year anniversary of arriving here in Pohnpei. This is just one of those many emotional obstacles I will have to overcome during my service. But to be frank, it sucks.

But thank God for my fellow Volunteers, because no one can understand the frustrations and misery associated with PCV life better than, well a PCV. I have relished in the chance to unload some of my unhappiness on my friends who have received it sympathetically and have had plenty of their own to dish out. As isolating as it is to live in the rural jungle almost an hour from town and internet and hot water, it’s nice to know that my fellow PCV’s are also within reach.

And just as most of my teacher friends back home, I am beyond ecstatic that school is almost over. For us it ends on May 22 and it couldn’t come a day sooner. The normal stresses and frustrations associated with teaching are amplified here as they are forced together with a culture that doesn’t view education with the same importance that America does. I frequently feel like I am fighting a losing battle that no amount of donated books or pencils can ever solve.

I’m hopeful that this summer will lead to a recharge of my patience and will to live. Plus, there’s a lot to look forward to this summer:

-My Mid-Service Training takes place in early June, and all of my remaining teammates who are currently spread across the Pacific will come back here to Pohnpei for a week. I’m excited beyond words to lay eyes on all of them after a year of separation. I foresee much celebrating and commiserating  in our futures.

-The new Volunteers arrive at the end of our training week to begin their Pre-Service Training rituals. I think it will be nice to have some fresh blood up in here and some new smiling, eager faces to brighten up the mood. Plus, it gives me the opportunity to feel useful and knowledgeable, which isn’t bad for massaging my ego.

-My best friend on the island, Mia Neidhardt (check out her blog at http://miapeacecorps.blogspot.com/ ) and I are heading to Japan in mid-June for one week of well-deserved and desperately needed vacation. Mia has a friend who is living in Japan working as a teacher and has graciously allowed us to crash on her floor. The culture shock should be pretty extreme, but it will be a welcomed changed after having spent a year on a secluded developing nation adrift in the Pacific. Wish us luck!

- I have a summer project at my school in the works involving reading (The Magic Tree House series by Mary Pope Osborne), learning about the places around the world that are visited in the stories, and then painting a giant world map wall mural. I’m still waiting for grant funding to come through, but I’m excited to do something with some of my students that they may actually enjoy.

So that’s it. A very real update of how things are going in my little speck of the world. Thanks to all who continue to send me letters and encouragement. Especially my parents, my aunt Janet, my wonderful godparents Carole and Fred, and my two best friends James and Rachel. Your love is felt in abundance.

Stay well,

Christy

Chickens

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and as only life in a slow-paced developing country can induce, I’ve been thinking a lot about chickens. I know, my life sounds thrilling.

At first I began thinking about animals in general here and how Americans would be horrified and shocked that Pohnpeians eat dog, for example. I was sharing this thought with a fellow Volunteer, Ben, who then pointed out that Pohnpeians would be horrified and shocked by the way we treat some animals in America. His examples covered all the horrors of the food industry in America and the mistreatment of cows, pigs, chickens, and the like while they await their ultimate end. These are all things we are vaguely aware of as Americans, but most of us try to ignore those facts as we happily munch our cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets.

As I continued to ponder this comparison, I couldn’t help but focus on the chickens. Many times in the past, I have been driving beside a giant chicken truck on the highway, with far too many chickens jammed into hundreds of tiny cages and it always made me sad. Those sort of conditions (for any animal) prompted the new-age term “free-range”. And as I was sitting around here in my village thinking, I suddenly realized that I live among truly free-range chickens.

I’m not sure what free-range means in the context of America, but here, free-range literally means free range. Chickens roam around constantly. There are no fences or pens, and even though some of your chickens may be wandering around in the jungle or perhaps walking across the road (I am still trying to come up with the perfect Pohnpei-inspired punch line to that joke!), everyone knows those are your chickens, and stealing or mistreatment of those chickens is considered particularly heinous.

Chickens are pretty much allowed to do anything they want. I am constantly chasing chickens out of the house or the office at school (did you know chickens can fly in through windows? I didn’t) or fishing chicks out of small spaces they managed to wiggle into and they couldn’t get out of, and cleaning up the chicken poop they leave behind. When I’m eating food (again, everything is outside), I’m not only on the lookout for dog and cat food-thieves, but also chickens. They’ll jump up and snatch food right off your plate or out of your hands if you’re not paying attention. And they peck at your feet if you’ve dropped a piece of rice, which believe me, does not feel good.

Have you ever taken a nap and woken up with a chicken looking you in the face? I have.

And whoever came up with this idea that roosters only crow at dawn obviously never lived with any. Roosters crow whenever they damn well please, beginning usually around 4 am (hours before dawn). Now that is fun, let me tell you. My (American) family always finds it amusing that they can hear roosters in the background when we speak on the phone. But it ceased to be amusing around day two. And hens make a lot of noise too, did you know that? Constant noise. Squawking, clucking, noise.

There is one fun thing about the chicken noises, though. Evidently, there is a distinct sound that a hen makes while it lays an egg. I am learning (failing miserably) to recognize it. Regardless of what is going on, when the egg-sound is heard, children are always dispatched to recover the eggs. And remember, these are free-range chickens, so that entails following the sound into the jungle, around heaps of old metal or tires or trash and finding the egg. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, except it’s an egg, in the jungle. I usually give up and just watch the kids find the eggs. Whatever.

But in addition to the ways in which chickens are annoying, they’re also kind of fascinating. Again, this may be the result of a lack of stimuli in my life, but I truly find the chickens interesting. Anatomically, I love observing the amazing dexterity of their specially-shaped feet, with the three main toes and the one small toe in back, and their ability to jump, balance, and grasp branches efficiently. And chicken necks. Have you ever really looked at a chicken’s neck? The neck is surprisingly long and can bend in an almost unnatural way in every direction, good to fixing out-of-place feathers, or snatching bread out of an unsuspecting American’s hand. And some of the roosters are just beautiful. Their colors and the patterns on their feathers are simply gorgeous. My favorite rooster (and I say favorite referring to its coloring only; all the roosters are on my hit list for waking me up every morning) is partially black. His black tail feathers glisten in the sun and shine green, blue, and purple. It’s incredible. But yes, I know it’s just a chicken.

The most amusing chicken activity that occurs is watching the chickens interact with the puppy (whom my family named Kujo, though they have no knowledge of the movie or the character-implications of the name). The chickens quickly discovered that, like most dogs on the island, Kujo’s fur is teeming with bugs, and they have taken to picking out those tasty morsels while Kujo naps in the sunshine. Initially, the pecking woke up the pup and startled him (as one would imagine the appropriate reaction to be), but ultimately he was able to ignore it and sleep peacefully. It seems like a win for both parties. And to express his sincere gratitude, Kujo has begun chasing the chickens. His favorite game is to grab the hens by their tail feathers until they let out a terrified cluck and then he finds another hen to torment. At first I worried about the chickens’ safety, but then I watched one of the hens whip around and peck at Kujo, so now I think they’re a pretty good match.

In the Pohnpeian language, the way to describe illegible handwriting is to say menginpeh duete malek sensenser pohn pwel, or writing like a chicken scratches the dirt. Sounds familiar? Chicken scratch. How funny is that? Some idiomatic phrases are more global than I thought.

And probably my favorite chicken-related Pohnpeianism, is the name of a mountain on the opposite side of the island from where I live. The name is Pwise En Malek, and it refers to the shape of the mountain itself. The translation? Chicken poop. Wonderful.

I’ll leave you with this story : the other day—and I kid you not, this is completely true—I came into my dark, closed bedroom, only to discover a small chicken nestled on my pillow. I turned on the light and the chicken simply lifted its head and gave me a look that I could only interpret as annoyance. As if I was interrupting its well-deserved nap. After a bit of a starring contest, I calmly picked up the chicken (with surprisingly little protest from the drowsy bird) and chucked it (somewhat violently) outside. It then seemed like a good time to change the sheets on my bed.  I may never solve this chicken mystery. And somehow that’s okay with me.

So there it is—the workings of my brain as I live amongst many, many chickens. Hope you enjoyed it!

Stay well,

Christy

The Five Senses of my Peace Corps Life

These are the things I experience daily:

Sight

I see an endless canopy of green, lush trees, gently swaying in the breeze. I see bright and colorful flowers. I see chickens, so many chickens. I see smoke, rising up into the sky from a cooking or trash fire. I see orange dirt, finely coating every surface and me. I see lizards, of ever size and color, traversing walls, ceilings, and trees. I see the smiling faces of my family and students. I see the ocean, sparkling, green, and infinite. I see rain, collecting in messy puddles all around me. I see happy children laughing and splashing in those puddles. 

Sound

I hear the faint rustling of trees when the wind blows. I hear screaming, laughing children. I hear roosters, Lord do I hear roosters, all the time roosters. I hear the unmistakable sound of each family car as it approaches on the road. I hear the crunching of leaves as children and livestock wander through the jungle. I hear yelling voices (most communication is done via yelling). I hear my brothers’ music, constantly playing the same few songs on repeat. I hear the hum of electric fans. I hear the stone-on-stone sound of my Pahpa mixing local medicines. I hear metallic work-sounds of my uncle repairing something. I hear the chatter of my sister’s sewing machine, as she busily creates skirt after skirt to sell in town. I hear laughter, always laughter. I hear the (not so soft) lullabies sung to the new baby. I hear my almost 2 year old nephew as he attempts to speak. I hear the many sounds of pigs. I hear the bubbling of the water tank just outside my bedroom. I hear the soothing patter of rain on the rooftop.

Smell

I smell smoke, soot, and dust. I smell mildew. I smell the stomach-churning scent of pig, chicken, dog, cat, and human waste. I smell oil, as food is being fried. I smell the comforting fragrance of my laundry soap. I smell body-odor. I smell the pungent odor of the local medicinal concoctions. I smell the cleansing scent of rain. I smell the familiar scent of my Dove deodorant and bar soap, as it both comforts and taunts me (haha—you’re not really clean!). I smell motor oil and gas. I smell soup cooking over the fire. I smell freshly cut grass. I smell the relaxing scent of my Nohno’s massage oils. I smell the stinging (yet welcomed) scent of bleach after I’ve cleaned the bathroom. And even with all of this, I even some times inhale deeply the scent of pure, fresh air.

Taste

I taste rice, which has somehow become less bland as time goes on. I taste gallon after gallon of life-sustaining water. I taste fish of all varieties prepared in countless ways. I taste gum sent from home, which I hoard and ration like gold. I taste fruits of many varieties, most of which I have never tasted before, none of which are sweet. I taste the earthy grit of local medicines when I am inevitably sick. I taste refreshing coconut water on a hot day (every day).  I taste and I savor the occasional treat of (melted) chocolate.

Touch

I feel hot. I feel sweaty. I feel discouraged. I feel sick. I feel bored. I feel frustrated. I feel grimy. I feel like I might die if I eat one more bite of fish. I feel lazy. I feel trapped. Sometimes I feel mad. I feel like an alien. I feel like an idiot. I feel sticky. I feel stress like I have never felt before. I feel the constant itch of ant and mosquito bites. I feel the familiar tickle of a bug crawling across my skin. I feel the pure pleasure of letting raindrops land on my face on a hot day (every day). I feel immense pride and joy when a student surprises me. I feel immeasurable love being poured out from my family. I feel independent. I feel inspired. I feel empowered. I feel hopeful. I feel resourceful. I feel accomplished. And even through the ups and downs, I feel happy.

--Christy

Never Say Never

The other day it rained. And I don’t just mean rain; I’m talking about the torrential downpour that helps Pohnpei be one of the wettest places on Earth. It rained and it was freezing. I know that sounds ridiculous. Freezing.  And  I admit, the first time it really rained like this, and my family complained about how cold they were, I thought they were lunatics. However, as I spend more time here, acclimating to the climate, I have come to agree. And really, it makes sense if you think about it. The reason that it is unbearably hot most days is the exact same reason that it is insanely cold when it rains: no climate control.  Nothing is sealed off, there is no air conditioning, the temperature outside is the temperature inside. The same glassless windows that keep me from suffocating in the stifling heat make me shiver in the rainstorms.

But the majority of time is spent outside anyway, including during a downpour. Inside is only for sleeping, and for weird white people who go inside to hang out during the day (me). So we all sit jammed under the only structure, a thatch roofed hut called an ihmwiahs, trying not to die of cold. We can’t really speak to each other, because the wind and the rain is so loud, and we’re not exactly dry either, since there are no walls on the ihmwiahs and wind throws rain in every direction. Occasionally, one of the many falling fruits ripped from its tree by the violent wind strikes the roof of the ihmwiahs and lets a small stream of water through the thatch. Then my Pahpa hurries to try and repair the leak. We try to cook and eat like normal, but the wind and rain puts out any fire. So we end up with fruit, maybe some bread, and if we’re lucky and the power is still on (the two are typically mutually exclusive), some hot rice from the cooker. All of this, for hours. Sometimes all day.

Eventually, I typically give up and retreat inside where I can seek more protective shelter (and nibble on my hidden care package snacks). As was the case on that day, and as I was huddled in my bed shivering, curled up for warmth, wearing leggings and my purple USF hoodie (thanks James), I thought to myself, I never thought I’d be this cold on a tropical island. Well, never say never.

And I got to thinking about all the things that are normal to me now that I never thought I would experience. I thought I might share some of those things with all of you:

I never thought I’d be able to go all day without noticing that the power was out.

I never thought I’d be able to go several days without noticing that the cell tower is down.

I never thought I’d be able to survive without toilet paper.

I never thought I’d be able to go an entire day without speaking English.

I never thought I’d be able to teach a class full of students who don’t speak English.

I never thought I could exist in a world without air conditioning.

I never thought I’d walk down the road and see chickens and crabs crossing the path in front of me and not even look twice.

I never thought I’d be able to live off of rice.

I never thought I’d be able to learn to like cold bucket showers.

I never thought I could go weeks without internet.

I never thought I would prefer local medicines over my western ones.

I never thought I would consider silverware unnecessary.

I never thought I would lose my terror of eating fish with a face.

I never thought I could live in the tropics without getting burnt to a crisp daily.

I never thought I’d be able to husk and crack open a coconut.

I never thought I could live without item that I once considered necessity.

I never thought I’d feel comfortable sharing my room with an assortment of geckos and spiders.

I never thought I’d be able to teach in another language.

I never thought I’d set off to wash my clothes wielding a wooden paddle.

I never thought I’d become unaffected by constantly naked children.

I never thought I’d have the time to sit and read an entire book in one day.

I never thought I’d be living in the jungle, completely cut off from modern civilization.

I never thought I’d have the stomach to watch an animal be killed and cooked and still want to eat it.

I never thought I would consider lying on a cement floor comfortable.

I never thought I’d be able to joke and tease in another language.

I never thought I could go months without television.

I never thought I’d eat raw fish, let alone call it my favorite food.

I never thought I’d look at my alarm clock/thermometer, see 87 degrees, and think, “hey, not bad.”

I never thought I could spend time in a foreign hospital and find the experience enjoyable.

I never thought I’d be able to simply walk a few minutes and see endless ocean in every direction.

I never thought I’d feel at home here.

Well, never say never.

--Christy

Amoeba

As I’ve mentioned in the past, serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer is full of its ups and downs. So far, my low points have lasted for only a few days at a time, perhaps a week, or more frequently I’ve had severe highs and lows within the same day. But inevitably, there comes a time when you just hit a big low. It’s normal. January was my first big low point.

A number of factors played into this past month being difficult, but it sort of reached a climax (or whatever the opposite of a climax is) this past week when I was hospitalized for Amoebiasis. Yes, you read that correctly, amoeba. Cool, right?

About a month after I moved out to my village (around September), I started complaining about stomach pains. My doctors diagnosed gastritis and tried a variety of antacids and the like, and my symptoms generally went away for a short time, but always reappeared, so we tried a different medication. My Nohno and Pahpa gave me a local medicine that also seemed to help a bit. I’ve also been getting periodic stomach massages from my Nohno which definitely made me feel a little better. Additionally, my life has also been plagued by irregular bowel movements (brace yourself, this is about to get a little graphic)—days of diarrhea followed by days of constipation—occurring cyclically. And then there’s my weight loss (it has finally leveled off, with a total loss of 30 lbs).

Now, obviously, looking back it seems absurd that we never considered that I might have a parasite. But really, you must think about what life is like for an American living in a developing country. It’s rough on your body. Living conditions, sanitation, and access to clean drinking water is all very limited. You’re eating strange foods, living in a new climate and environment 24/7. Volunteers get sick. It’s just a fact of life. None of my symptoms by themselves caused us any alarm. We weren’t alarmed, that is, until last Wednesday when I was suddenly overcome with fever and unable to hold food or water in my stomach.

At that point I was taken to the hospital and given an IV to get me rehydrated. During the several lab tests that were run, it was discovered that not only did I have Amoebiasis, but the count of parasites in my system was so high that it indicated that I’d had an amoeba for quite some time. Say, maybe 4 months. I guess my body decided it finally had enough.

Amoebiasis comes from fecal-oral contamination. In the US, people usually get amoebas either from being simply unhygienic or from eating food prepared by unclean hands. Here, those are definitely still possible causes, but due to the sheer volume of my infection, the likely cause is contaminated water. I had been drinking the water in my village because it is piped from a large tank with some sort of filtration system, and was deemed “clean” by trusted members of my community. Plus, the last Volunteer who lived with my family is reported to have drunk the water, so I decided it seemed harmless enough. Clearly, I was mistaken.

So I stayed in the hospital for two nights, being pumped full of drugs, and then was released into the care of one of my Peace Corps doctors and have been staying at the Peace Corps sick bay for the last two nights. Today I’m finally able to head back to my village (armed with large jugs of purified water, no less)! I’m ready to get back into the swing of things, but I definitely have to take it easy for a while. The amoeba is not yet eradicated, and I have plenty of pills to continue taking. I have to return to the hospital in one week to have more tests run to check my progress. It’s all very exciting.

My stay in the hospital really wasn’t all that bad. I was so weak for the first day that I sleep pretty much nonstop, but then on the second day I was more alert and able to chat with my roommates (four Pohnpeian women and their assorted family members). Everyone was so kind to me and concerned, and the women sent their children all around to bring me things that I needed. When I finally left the hospital, they all wished me well and I was actually oddly sad to leave their company.

I had plenty of my own visitors, though. One of my Peace Corps doctors came several times each day, bringing me snacks and keeping me company. Another member of the staff, sort of a mother-figure showed up unexpectedly with lots of beverages and helped me to call relevant parties to update them on my recovery. One of my cousins came one his way to and from college each day to check on me and my sister Ioren spent the night in her car so she could be close by if I needed her. Turns out I did need her, because showering with an IV in is not a one-person job. Especially not bucket showering with an IV. That was interesting, let me tell you. I felt like a child, being bathed and clothed by someone, and letting her comb and braid my hair, but I am immensely grateful.

But the point is, I was well taken care of. It was definitely very comforting. I have never been hospitalized before, so I was a little nervous about what would happen, especially in a foreign country so far from friends and family, but silly me. I forgot that I have friends and family here in Pohnpei who love and care about me. Duh.

Now, I just have a bunch of pills to take, some of which are quite large. (If you’ve forgotten, I learned to swallow pills here in the Peace Corps, so I’m still not very good at it yet). I spoke to my mom a few weeks ago and I told her about trying unsuccessfully to swallow some huge antibiotics I was taking for a sinus infection (again, January was not my favorite month), and she reassured me that it just takes practice. Well, that may be true, but as I have recently learned, what it really takes is the right motivation. When I go to swallow one of my monster pills, a little voice inside my head just starts screaming “CHRISTY, YOU HAVE A PARASITE LIVING INSIDE OF YOU! YOU WILL SWALLOW THIS PILL! SWALLOW IT NOW! DO IT!” And you know what? It works.

So, the good news is that I am on the road to recovery. All of the crap I had been putting up with for the past few months that I thought was just part of the job will actually go away, which is VERY exciting. Plus, let’s be honest, I kind of feel like a badass.

This whole experience has put a lot of things in perspective for me and has actually helped pull me out of the January funk.

I mean, hey, shit happens. Sometimes you get an amoeba.

Stay well,

Christy