Hospital Hiatus

Well, I've reached another milestone in my Peace Corps service -- first trip to the emergency room! This was actually the first ER trip, and IV drip, of my life. Other than stitches at age seven and few ill elderly relatives, I've managed to steer well clear of hospitals.

Now I wouldn't wish seven hours in a Peruvian ER on anyone, but it did make for some interesting cultural observations, at least from what I was able to see. But let's back up a sec. How did I find myself in this bustling ER? I woke up two days ago with an extremely swollen face; red, itchy and generally unpleasant. I consulted our friendly Peace Corps doctor, via phone, and she advised me to take some Benadryl and go back to bed. Well, Benadryl is not easily found in the remote desert town I currently inhabit. I found what I could and spent a day moaning about in bed. Cut to this morning when I awoke with eyes swollen almost completely shut and face even more grossly inflated. I had a picture but my vanity won't allow me to post it, even to this limited audience. Instead I present a close approximation, and a reminder of a really funny movie.

I feel you, Hitch. Really I do.

I managed to find my way, semi-blind, to an emergency clinic in Chiclayo. I saw a doctor almost immediately, much to my shock, who confirmed an allergic reaction diagnosis, gave me a couple shots, and then ushered me into the sick bay. Where I was to spend the rest of eternity. All the beds were taken, so I was given a Peruvian-sized gurney to rest on. Anyone want to take bets on how many inches my legs hung off? Let's just say noticeably so. For the first couple hours, I was content to sprawl about, let the meds wash over me, rest my weary eyes, and make up stories about my fellow patients. I noticed a disproportionate number of teenage boys around me. I don't know if this is because boys that age are more likely to have clumsy accidents or if it's because Peruvian mamas are seriously overprotective of their adored sons. Judging by the amount of "tummy-aches" I'm going with the latter.

There were also a number of very old ladies, one of whom vomited approximately every half hour, and several wailing feverish babies. In the six hours I spent on my gurney, I saw exactly four nurses, two orderlies, and three doctors. None of them knew my name, I didn't have a chart, just my IV cart trailing behind me every time I went in search of answers. Eventually a doctor came back and informed me that I would need to stay 24 hours for observation and set an appointment with an internist. My Spanish is pretty solid, but combine an unfamiliar medical system, a number of drugs, and rapid-fire medical terms and you've lost me. Luckily I was able to get in touch with my English-speaking PC doctor who convinced the clinic to release me, prescriptions in hand.

Phew. What a day. Most of the time I feel pretty in control of my life here; I know what to do, where to go, what to say. But today I felt completely overwhelmed, confused and lonely. When the ER doctor asked me why I couldn't just call a family member to come stay with me overnight I wanted to slap her, in between bouts of hiccup-y crocodile tears. I probably got out easy in terms of third-world hospital visits, but there's nothing like a sick day to really humble a girl.

The swelling has gone down some and the itching has thankfully subsided. I can see, sorta, out of one eye (so apologies for the million typos) and am about to take a hefty amount of Benadryl and put this day behind me. I'm currently holed up in a Chiclayo hotel under strict instructions from my PC doctor not to go back to site for at least the next 24 hours. Now that's a treatment I can get behind.