Travel

The airport announcements in Amsterdam are surprisingly urgent and guilt based: "Mr Nakazawa, traveling to Bahrain, YOU ARE DELAYING THE FLIGHT. Please board at gate A7. We are preparing to offload your luggage." I was shocked at Mr. Nakazawa's behavior and determined to never be that person, the guilty flight-delayer. At least, I was shocked the first 17 or so times I heard that style of announcement. By the end of my 9 hour layover, it was background noise, just like the recording on the moving sidewalks instructing no one in particular to "please mind your step. please mind your step." The Amsterdam airport is a wonder, with shiny floors and big spaces and a basically unenforced smoking ban. How very European. But the real highlight are the Comfort Seats- herds of big comfy reclining chairs, tucked into otherwise unusable space throughout the airport and perfect for sleeping while spooning with one's carry-on.

And so, after 36 hours, 2 lattes, innumerable naps, 3 on-board movies, countless glasses of water, a very strange chicken sandwich and a follow-up dramamine, I arrived ten minutes early in the District of Columbia. Passport control was no trouble, but baggage claim? I think my big black suitcase is out to get me. It looks basically like every other big black suitcase, so I inspect each one as it goes by. But I think my suitcase changes its appearance on purpose before exiting the aircraft, bragging to the other luggage, "I bet I can go past her at least 3 times without her recognizing me!" When I arrived in Nairobi, I rejected the suitcase as mine because, and I'm certain of this, the main zipper had switched sides. And this time, it had shed its large metal plate proclaiming "Atlantic" in easily distinguishable letters. So yes, it went past me repeatedly before I finally recognized it. I'm pretty sure I heard it snickering as I pulled through customs.

But it was soon drowned out in the sounds of reunion with my parents, complete with purple flowers, a few tears, and a down jacket for the equatorial dweller. America is strangely normal and surprisingly not. It's interesting the things you notice in a newly-new place: my nose is cold. The sunlight arrives at such a slanted angle. Internet pages load so quickly. There's so much space between the cars. Zeke is much grayer than when I left. But most important- I can feel my strength returning with each bite of USDA approved beef. Surely I will be whole and energetic by January.

Surprise!

Exciting news- I'm going back to the U.S. today! I was able to change my flight to tonight, 4 days earlier than scheduled. In 12 hours, I will be flying out of Nairobi. I'd better get going- there's a lot to do and only a few hours to do it in! Fortunately I wrote a packing list while I was in the hospital. Doesn't that just sound like me? =)

Please pray that the travel goes well, that I don't have much pain, and that I arrive in DC in a shape that doesn't scare my parents. Praise God that I was able to get this flight!

Out of the Hospital Again

Sequels are rarely as good as the originals, and I'm not on as much pain medicine as I was when I wrote the first "Out of Hospital" post, so there's really no hope for cleverness.

But what I lack in style I will make up in brevity: after another 4 nights in the hospital, I am again quite happy to be home. This stay was unrelated to the mumps, and I was much more patient and peaceful during round two. I continue to push fluids to help my system recover, the doctor doesn't want me at work for the rest of the semester, and I'm praying that I will be able to take my planned trip to the US in 1 week.

That sums it up.

Fall

So a quick & funny story:
About a month ago, I was missing autumn- the falling leaves, the cooler weather, the smells of firewood and cinnamon. And when I walked out of my apartment one morning, I found hundreds of delicate leaves scattered across the pavement, clearly shed by some plant with roots in North America.

I was delighted until I learned that they were actually the discarded wings of flying termites. Ew.

Gives a whole new meaning to "fall," eh?

Previously, on The Gregarious Impala

Let's pretend my blog is a TV series you've missed the last few episodes of, and this is that montage at the beginning of the show that catches you up. For best results, read with a dramatic announcer's voice:

Setting: doctor's office. "Jessie, you have the mumps and must stay in quarantine for an additional seven days after you become asymptomatic." (girl, distraught, is frustrated by this news but accepts it as necessary)
Setting: a very small apartment, stir-crazy girl lying in bed reading email off her laptop. "Would you like to spend a few days with us across town to break the monotony of your isolation? You won't be able to come with us to Thanksgiving dinner, but we'll bring a plate back for you. We used to live in Los Alamos and have a significant stockpile of chile to share."
Setting: Baptist missionary housing across town. Veteran missionary couple and new girl at table, sharing red chile enchiladas. "Glad you're doing better." "Me too- thanks so much for inviting me! Hopefully yesterday was the first and last Thanksgiving dinner I'll ever eat alone..."
Setting: upstairs of same house the next day. "Do you have any ibuprofen? I'm not feeling so great."
Setting: back in the very small apartment, next door neighbor/nurse visiting. "Well, if you're feeling worse, we should probably go see the doctor tomorrow. Never fear. If he wants to admit you, I'll talk him out of it."

And now, onto this exciting episode of The Gregarious Impala. Events occur in African time (in other words, painfully slowly to the American mind).
---
So yes, the doctor examined me, confirmed complications from the mumps, and wanted to admit me. And, as promised, Jane talked him out of it. At least until my fever spiked in the waiting room and I fainted on her while moving from the couch to a wheelchair. Then she talked me into it.

So pretty soon I was on IV fluids and major painkillers, awaiting ultrasounds on my upper and lower abdomen. There were lots of great things about this hospital- big, private rooms, cable TV, great food. And, since Kenya is so British, it was essential that I "take tea" at 10 and 4 each day: delicious Earl Gray, hot milk, and some sort of biscuit (cookie), all brought on a silver tray to my hospital bed. I ordered each meal off an extensive menu- 5 vegetarian dishes, 5
chicken, 5 beef, 5 fish, fresh-squeezed tropical juices, a variety of desserts, and of course soup. Apparently soup is key. I don't particularly love soup, so at first I didn't order it. But the man in the coat and tie who served my meals would ask multiple times, "And what kind of soup would you like?" I can pick up on cultural necessities eventually; I recognized it was important for me to order soup. I still don't know quite why, but my "waiters" were much more at ease once I chose a soup. And as it turned out, the soups were quite tasty. There was quite an emphasis on making patients comfortable- they had vases for the flowers people brought, they replaced the batteries on my remote more than once (I didn't think they were low, but what do I know?), and, unlike hospitals in the States, no one pestered me to take my vitals...

Honestly, I experienced a pretty strong wave of culture shock while in the hospital. This makes sense in some ways- it was my first extended interaction with a Kenyan institution. Now, every hospital has its problems with communication and getting everything done at the right time, but when tests had to be put off because no one had told me I couldn't eat beforehand, or when I didn't see or hear from my doctor for a couple of days, or when nurses forgot to give me my medicine, I had a hard time being FLEXIBLE! And of course, any small measure of cultural sensitivity I possessed was pretty well buried under physical discomfort, loneliness, extreme homesickness, and anxiety about how this would all turn out. I wish I could say I had peace, I trusted God, I just went with whatever happened. But it isn't true. I was frustrated with what I saw as lack of efficiency and competence, and I even snapped at a nurse once. I feel terrible.

Being in the hospital is much more common here than in the US. It seems like they admit you in the States only if you're at death's door. Here, they admitted me for rest and for pain control. There, your diet is carefully regulated and what you do and don't eat is noted. Here, they still brought 5 packets of sugar with my tea though my doctor was concerned about diabetes brought on by pancreas damage from the virus. No one knew if I was awake or asleep all night- no one ever opened my door. I could never tell if the question "How was your night?" was just a translation of the Swahili greeting (to which the only answer is "good") or if they really wanted to know. Diagnostic tests can wait- go ahead and finish talking on your cell phone. They wanted me to be happy; I wish they were a little more concerned about me being healthy.

So to summarize the medical stuff, my final diagnosis was "mumps with bilateral oophritis." (Look it up if you really want to know, but you probably don't). My blood sugar came back down, cysts they had seen on ultrasound weren't visible the next day, and my pain decreased significantly. They had been considering exploratory surgery if the swelling didn't go down, but it did, and so they sent me home. I believe all of that to be the result of prayer on my behalf, so thanks for praying.

I am no longer contagious, but in some ways I feel worse than I did a week and a half ago- I still have some abdominal pain, and my energy is low. I went to school for the first 2 periods this morning, and that knocked me out for the rest of the day. It's a balancing act- if I do too much, I hurt and I don't get better. If I do too little, my energy stays low and I feel like I'll never be able to live my normal life. I have a bit more compassion for my mom's daily challenges of figuring out what she can and can't do. We'll be quite the pair at Christmastime...

But ultimately, I think I am getting better. God answered many prayers of my church in Los Alamos and my coworkers here. Many serious complications were ruled out, and the others we just have to wait and pray some more about. And while I was in the hospital, I felt very loved: I got lots of flowers- from friends in America, from other teachers, and from parents I work with here. I had about 20 visitors at different times, and my kids made banners and cards that made me smile. And finally, I'm incredibly grateful I'm planning to be with my mom and dad over the holiday break; it was hard on us to be apart during all this uncertainty.

So I'm home (and my apartment doesn't feel nearly as small compared to my hospital room), I'm able to be with people, and I'm trying to restart life as normal.

Hopefully the next few weeks won't be nearly as exciting.

Out of Hospital

Out of hospital. Had been texting to update mom and boss. Still thinking in short sentences. Will write more when on less codeine. God answers prayer!