Fun Times at a Peruvian Clinica

Yes, I know, the blog has been horribly neglected. But this time I actually have really good reason!

So let's start from the beginning. About three weeks ago, on a weekend, Pedro and I went on a eating spree of amazing good food all over the place . That meaning, I gave in and had every delicious thing I had been craving for weeks. It was amazing, delectable and something I thought was completely worth it. I tasted things I hadn't had before and absolutely fell in love with. All was well, I thought.

That Sunday night both Pedro and I began to feel a little sick to our stomachs. Nothing serious, a little bit of pain but nothing to really worry about. This lasted for about three days, after which Pedro got better. I, with my amazing immune system, got worse. This lasted for about three weeks, with escalating pain throughout my abdomen. Slowly I began eating less and less, as I was feeling more and more nauseous every time I put something in my mouth. I started feeling better by the beginning of the second week, which I solved by ordering pizza. That's right people, and not just any pizza, the worst: Pizza Hut. That night and the next day I was instantly twice as bad as when I started feeling sick. By the time it was nearing the end of the three weeks, I had severe difficulty smelling food cooking or sipping a glass of water without wanting to throw up and missed two days of work. This was last Monday.

Monday night I was up the entire night vomiting basically nothing since I had not eaten real food or drank water in about two days. For some stupid reason, I thought I would still be okay to teach my Tuesday morning class at 8am and had Pedro drop me off before work. I have never struggled as hard through another hour and a half in my life. My fake smile was permanently glued on my face until 9:30 when I took a cab home and collapsed in my bed. I had never felt such severe and intense pain in my life, and feared breathing By 11 I knew I needed help and called Pedro, who rushed home to take me to the hospital.

In Peru, there are two names for hospitals which virtually mean the same thing: hospital and clinica. He took me to the Clinica Americana, or American Hospital, where we hoped they would accept my travel insurance. Before leaving Canada, I had purchased three months travel insurance covering all expenses through Scotiabank at the advice of my mother, even though I was "sure I won't need it, mom" and wondered why I was "...spending extra money when I could be buying trips to Argentina and shit." I literally ate my words when Scotiabank covered everything that I needed. We walked in to the Emergency Room, which was incredibly clean and well-kept, and checked in for an appointment. I was seeing a doctor in under 45 minutes. By this time, Pedro was helping me walk.

The emergency appointment area was a huge all-white room separated into about 8 rooms by your standard blue linen curtains. Everything looked only slightly different than Scarborough Grace hospital in Toronto; I might even have said the Clinica was of better quality. The biggest difficulty I knew I would have would be understanding what the doctor was telling me. This proved more than true. Here is an example of the typical flow of the conversation while I was with the doctor:

Danielle: "Pedro, ask him what he thinks is wrong with me."
Pedro: Turns around to the doctor and asks him in Spanish.
Doctor: Speaks constantly for five minutes.
Pedro: Turns to me. "You're sick."

Before I continue, let me quickly inform you about my worst fear: needles. I have a severe and unwavering fear of injections to the point where I have refused necessary medical treatment to avoid a blood test or an injection. So here, I am, in a hospital where I can't speak to anyone, awaiting my fate to finally discover that I have a severe stomach infection and needed to supply a blood sample as well as receive a number of medications through IV to feel better. I pretty much freaked for a good five minutes. Eventually though, I gave in and these little Spanish nurses came in and got to work. My blood sample was taken, I was poked with the IV and was given three medications which made me feel much better in about 6 minutes. 5 hours later, I was walking out of the hospital with three different prescriptions and a 700PEN bill, not bad when that morning I thought I was going to die.

I am now physically healed but mentally terrified to eat. Pretty unfortunate.

Other than that little adventure, I haven't done too much since I was feeling so terrible. Pedro has been traveling out of town for the past week and finally got back yesterday evening after running a press conference in the town of Chimbote. I have a date this evening with an expat who I met very recently; her birthday was yesterday so we are going to grab a drink. I also had an exciting clubbing night week for a birthday party that turned out to be amazingly fun and very very drunk. This weekend we are trying to plan a camping trip. Things are picking up again.

Final bit of news is that I just got a promotion! Langrow is starting a Diploma program with their institute specializing in Business Professional Interaction and Management and after 40 applicants and a difficult interview process it looks like I am the new professor! I am about to start getting ready for a photoshoot for the brochure, which I think is absolutely hilarious. My boss on the phone told me to dress professionally because I am now the "new face of Langrow" which made me laugh out loud.

Let me know how you are doing! I have a cell phone now with 200 free world minutes and would love to hear from you/call you, so email me your cell phone and I will email/call you back!

Sending love, hugs and kisses