happy retirement, daddy!!!

 Today is my dad's last day at work.

For my entire life, my dad has worked incredibly hard and instilled in me a work ethic and leadership ethic that I will always be grateful for.  

He worked 20 years in the military, lots of years for the City of Port Orchard, and now a fair amount of time for the Utility District.  Watching him in all his work gave me permission to have wings and explore the world.  Throughout this year in Guatemala (as well as our eventful/stressful days on the roadtrip), my dad has been my biggest support.  He knows what it's like to live abroad and "out of your box" and he fully supports what I'm doing.  

But, he's also taught me that it's important to have a landing strip and you can leave a legacy where you're at.  Looking at City Hall in Port Orchard, I know he left a legacy there and it reminds me of all his coworkers who were like family whenever I went to visit.  Similarly, every time I receive an email from one of his coworkers, I know that he's leaving a legacy at the utility district as well - if they care about me, they must really care about my dad!  As I look at my next steps in life, I, too, want to make sure people know how much I care about them, and I want to remember to be like my dad and do small things (like ordering a ridiculously tasty cake after a hard week of work) so people know I care. 

Now, he gets to work hard at retirement and enjoy it with his whole being.  And he's really, really excited!

¡Felicidades, Papá!

See you when you come on your first retirement vacation in August!

Picking some plums: a lesson in economics and humanness

The other morning, the Abuelo and I went to go pick some plums.  This may have been considered irresponsible considering my recent adventures with the medical community, but in my defense, the information that I received was that we were going to go on a walk.  This explanation did not include the fact that we were walking to the town on the other side of the highway, taking a pick up truck up the hill, nor walking through the fields on a quest for a ladder and a plum tree.  I'm glad I didn't know all that; I probably wouldn't have gone out of responsibility for my body... responsibility for one's body is way overrated when it comes in the way of life lessons.


So, we went to Estancia on my under-informed adventure.  It was excellent.  We walked for about 45 minutes through and over a river bed.  The cool and sad thing about rivers here are that they are gorgeous and disgusting at the same time.  We don't have trash collection in Cantel so everything is either burned or dumped.  Unfortunately, a popular dumping spot is by the rivers because people don't live there.  Like trash collection, we also don't have sewers so that waste goes to the rivers too... Which leads us with brown, foamy rivers surrounded by trash in beautiful canyons.

When we got to Estancia, we jumped in the back of a pickup (and by jumped, I mean belaboredly climbed since he's 84 and I'm gimpy) and up the hill we went.  At the top of the hill, we went to some relative's house down the road and walked through there to some fields in back.  It was gorgeous!  We found some trees that had plums and as I began picking the plums, Abuelo went off to find a ladder.  Note:  Ladders here are not like ladders in the States.  They are 2x4s nailed together in the shape of a ladder and most ladders have been around this earth longer than I have. 

He came back with the ladder and supported it against a branch (another fairly bad idea in my opinion) and climbed up it.  As he was reaching with all his might for the plums at the top of the tree, I decided that the tall, young gringa needed to be the person climbing the ladder, not the short, 84 year old abuelo.  So, I took over the operations, much to both of our relief.

After an hour and a half or so of picking, we piled our plums in a basket and put the basket in a wheelbarrow and wheelbarrowed across town to another house of a woman who sells produce in the Terminal Market.  After talking for a lot of time in K'itche, including her asking "what does she eat?" in reference to me (evidently she thought that I wouldn't eat typical Guatemalan food because I'm not Guatemalan...), we weighed and sorted the plums.  There were 14 pounds of big plums and 2 of small plums.  She and the abuelo agreed on 1Q per pound for big and 50 cents per pound for small.  So, we made 15Q!    Except, we paid about 5Q for transportation, so we netted about 10Q.  That, my friends, is $1.25 for three hours of work.  (Which, I guess is good because when we got home, everyone was quite pleased with that net income!)

As I've thought about it, I've been processing, what can you get for 10Q?  Well... you could get 10lbs of onions. Or you could get a head of broccoli, dozen carrots, lb of onions, and pineapple.  That makes a pretty good meal.  You could also get a bag of beans, two eggs, an avocado and 8 tortillas.  So, I guess we worked for our lunch!

While I was in the midst of my economics lesson, the woman who was buying our plums wanted to show us "her canche". (Canche is a slightly derogatory for white person... not very derogatory anymore though).  She sent her 3 year old granddaughter to go get "Canchito" (little male Canche) and he came over with her.  He is a three year old albino boy.  He lives in an all-indigenous community.  He has to always wear longsleeves and a hat if he goes out.   He makes me look almost Guatemalan.  He is going to have such a hard life.  I had heard about him from both Tina and my host families.  They both refer to his albinoness as a disease.  It definitely could have the disabling effects of a disease.  Playing with him and his cousin was so fun; they are adorable, but I couldn't help but just have my heart break for him in the future.  Life is going to be really hard.  Even as a little kid, everyone refers to him as "Canchito" or "Hijo del Sol" (Son of the Sun) - I never was told his real name.

But, he's also loved.  After he left, I played dumb and asked the grandma if they had other white people in the family.
"Only him," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Dios solo sabe" (God only knows), she said.
But then she followed it up with, "pero Dios tiene plannes por todos"  (But God has plans for all)
"Verdad, Dios tiene plannes por todo" I said.
Yes, it is true.  God does have plans for all things.

Why you should always return back to work

I returned to work this past week and it was great!  I forgot how much I love my job.  

Here are three highlights of why:

Highlight 1 – We played Simon Says outside with third grade.  “Simon Says touch your knee” (touched their knee), “Simon says touch your socks” (they touch their socks), “Simon Says touch your back” (Literally the entire class drops to all fours and starts mooing…. Unfortunately they confused vaca (cow) for espalda (back).  Hannah, a short-term volunteer and I laughed so hard that we had to pause the class.

Highlight 2 – This past week, we learned parts of clothing… I taught the kids a song to the tune of head, shoulders, knees, and toes but the words were:

Hat, Shirt, and Pants and Shoes (Pants and Shoes)

Hat, Shirt, and Pants and Shoes (Pants and Shoes)

Jacket and Shorts and Socks and Skirt

Hat, Shirt, and Pants and Shoes (Pants and Shoes)

This was great… except the kids have problems with their English letters, so the song became…

Hat, Shit and Pants and Shoes (Pants and Shoes)

Hat, Shit and Pants and Shoes (Pants and Shoes)

Jacket and Shit and Sex and Shit

Hat, Shit and Pants and Shoes (Pants and Shoes)

Yep… singing that 8 times a day…     

Highlight 3 – My co-teachers. 

Evidently, the whole staff thought I was going to die, or something like that.  So they got so excited when I got back that they decided to have a party!  So, Friday night, to celebrate “Dia del/la Maestro/a”  and “Teacher Katy is back!”, we had dinner and then a karaoke party.

I made shirts for me, and our director’s daughter, the high school math teacher, who got her appendix out four days after me (and then, incidentally, the first lady got her’s out two days after that… it kinda hurt her illegalcampaign for president… woops).   They said… “Los Doctores Se Robaron… Mi Apendice! – Pero estoy bien ahora” (The doctors stole my appendix but I am fine now) and then a dot where our appendix used to be that says, “estuvo aqui” (It was here).   We had fun. 

Then, karaoke… I’m speechless.  Evidently, there’s a free program where you can get karaoke songs and words, so we hooked it into the school sound system and made a party out of it.   Malea, Kyra, and I did some “Wannabe” from Spice Girls, every person there (including the director (3 times), his wife, and assistant director) did other songs in Spanish including one that had a strange Mexican laugh that our third grade teacher can do all too well (scary!), and then the four daughters of our director and I ended the night with Cheeno and Nacho’s “Nina Bonita” – one of the 6 songs that seems to be on the radio each and every day.  

It was a good night. 

I hope I can find a community like this to play with in the States when I get back.

WalMart: Small World

Today was a strange day.   I got up at my standard 6am… because that’s what I do now… and had a nice calm morning working on blogs (yep… a fair number are on their way) and stuff on my computer.  Around 9:30, I walked to the Mall stopping to talk to my orange juice lady friend and a few random street vendors and kids.  Then, I met Madian, my eldest former host sister, and we went to the Cine to watch Kung Fu Panda 2 for her birthday.  It’s a funny movie, at least in Spanish, I recommend it!  

Sitting in the movies, I was just shocked.  It cost 25Q per person to go (that’s just over $3) but it was just like the ones in the States.  Minus the Spanish and snack break in the middle (refracion is very important here), I could have easily been in the WW or GH movie theaters. 

After the movie, we stepped out into the Mall.  Yes, a Mall.  I’ve been there before and am always weirded out, but the weird factor was increased when coming directly from a movie theater.  We went upstairs to the food court and ate some Burger King.  Wow.  While eating our fries and ice cream, we had a conversation so incredibly similar to countless conversations I’ve had with preteens about the struggles of growing older and wanting to know things and frustrations with families and not understanding the world around us.  The only difference was, once again, the conversation was in Spanish. 

Then, we met the rest of their family and they went on their way.  I headed to Quick Foto to print out a picture (another very USish thing to do) and then to WalMart.  Yes, WalMart.  Weird?  Yes.  I bought a portable hard drive because I’ve officially become paranoid of losing all my pictures and files and then walked around the store completely weirded out.  “Am in College Place? Minnesota?  Another place with WalMart?”  The only thing Guatemalan that I could see was that the meat was sitting out on a table not packaged nor refrigerated. That’s it.  I ended up leaving with a premade coffee drink, Hanson’s Soda, and Chex Mix… and a lot of confusion about where I am and how I’m not going to be here in 5 weeks and how weird that will be. 

As I walked home drinking my Hanson’s, eating my Chex Mix, and ignoring the cat calls from sketchy men while stepping over the unusually large amount of men passed out on the sidewalks (all before 2pm), I was awed by how small our world is, how similar we all are, and the power of globalization. 

We are so linked:  we all go through the struggles of adolescence, drink the same cane sugar soda, share the same chips, and all need portable hard drives.  Even more so, we are linked politically.  The past few weeks, I’ve had a lot of conversations about drugs.  They are an ever growing crisis here; the gangs are getting more and more dangerous (especially in Guatemala City and the areas near Mexico… still safe and healthy, moms and dads of my life!) and it’s a huge topic of conversation with our upcoming elections.  The drugs are trying to make it to the US (and doing a mighty good job) but they’re destroying many of the people and much of the economy of Central America in the process.  So then, people are trying to immigrate or migrate or simply relocate so they can find food to feed themselves and their family.  This affects the US and their drug problem, the immigration issues that surround politics there, the political system here, the families here, and each and every one of my students.  I’ve had conversations this week with people at school and people in my host family about tales of parents who left for the States so they could have money, kids who left for the States because either their parents sent them there or they fell off the face of the planet into drugland and the remaining family needed money, kids who have disappeared into gangs, and kids who have become orphans because their parents were assassinated…  They all make me want to cry.

Today was a strange mix where I saw a glimpse of the life of commercialism and commodities I will be returning to yet how it is so linked to the rest of the world.  I hope that my 30 minutes in WalMart is something that I remember in 2 months and even 2 years when I walk into a stateside WalMart and I let it remind me how this world is bigger than what I am just seeing there. 

I don’t know how to help the world, especially my students.  My heart yearns to stay here and to be with them and love on them and adopt them, but for political, economical, racial, and health reasons, that’s not very practical for now.  So, I guess I’ll just have to spend the next 5 weeks pouring my heart and soul into these kids, making them know they’re loved, and then pray that I never forget to pray for them and look for opportunities to help things that are bigger than myself. 

We are linked; I can never forget that.

Why I'm excited to return to school...

I've been on a medical rollercoaster for three weeks and therefore haven't been at school.  BUT, I get to go back this week!!!  I'm so excited!   Why?

Because I have a desk filled with the most adorable get well cards you will ever see from nearly all 250 of my students.

I'll take a picture of it all someday, but in the meantime, here are some quotes:

My name is Derick.  que te mejores pronto y que vuelvas pronto 

with a strange dog/heart drawing at the bottom.

Ven te extrañamos

with a dimpley smily face

House (next to a house)  

Para Teacher Katy.  How are you?  Your thecher are the mejor thecher. you are buenisimo. Te esperamos.

Karla ... La extrañamos.  Todos la quiero. Love you

Hello Miss Katy.  How are you?  I hope well and some bask soon.  Att Cristian

Well, Cristian.  Considering that you're my best English student, I will "some bask soon".  And we will work on our English a lot! 

Sheep!

Throughout the New Testament, there are passages and stories of us (humans) being referred to as sheep and Jesus/God referred to as the Shepherd.  And throughout Guatemala, there seems to be a lot of things reminding me about the sheep/shepherd relationship through sculptures, Semana Santa afombras, and other things.  It's nice to have the reminder of the lesson I seem to continuously be learning.

Robin, the CPPC pastor, had sheep.  And with having sheep comes lots of stories of stupid things sheep do and how reliant they are on their shepherd for things (both in and out of their control).  This year, I have become a sheep in so many ways.  I have had less control in my life than ever before due to language barriers, strange flea attacks (can't control those buggers), medical issues, etc., and because I didn't have control, I didn't have a ready made solution.  That's been hard; I've felt helpless.  But then, I read this verse:

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. - Matt 9:36

Other times, I've felt lost and confused... and then I jump to my favorite passage - the Prodigal Son in Luke 15.  But it gets better... before that story, it talks about Sheep!

Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’  - Luke 15:3-6

Still other times, I've watched and felt my identity, the core of who I am being shifted.  Although this has been one of my primary prayers for the year, it's also been challenging.  The questions "who am I?" and  "How do I respond to this now that I know what I know and have been challenged in ways I never imagined?" have been asked so much.  It's reassuring to go to my leader and listen and be led and know that although I'm not sure if I know myself and I surely know that I don't fully know him, he knows me.

 The watchman opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.  - John 10:3

“I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep.  - John 10:14-15

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. - John 10:27

Then there are the times that I've felt like I've been at a dead end.  This has happened a lot with the recovery tract that seems to be moving at a snails pace after appendicitis.  I've been lost, tried to climb imaginary walls to get out of the dead end, and felt very astray and alone... then I read this.  

For you were like sheep going astray, but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls. - 1 Peter 2:25

Although being a sheep means that we're not the shepherd and therefore not in control, I'm learning that I can rejoice in being led and feel blessed by the knowledge that the Shepherd is with me when I don't know where I am, knows me when I don't know myself, and has compassion on me when there's so much fogging my view to see and think clearly enough to go and sit at his feet.

May the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep - Hebrews 13:20

Coconuts, Machetes, and a glimpse of Texas

This past weekend, Kyra and I had a spontaneous weekend in Antigua.  It was delightful to thaw and dry out a bit (it's significantly warmer and drier), get out of my house arrest/recovery, and just spend a day and a half at a hostel calmly and sleepily writing our curriculum for the rest of the year on the rooftop terrace.   


We did, however, leave our blissful teacher planning/katharine napping time to go to the market and buy a coconut.  Usually, at least in Xela, when you buy a coconut "to go", they shave it down (by hacking all the bark off with a machete) so that you can easily drink the milk out of a straw (through a hole they hack into it) and when you're confident/daring enough to think that the milk is all gone, crack it open and eat it.  In Antigua, however, the precrack preparation is lacking, to say the least, and the coconut is mas grande.  This leads to adventures.

So, I'm going to rehash the story for you.  In the middle of the market, we (I) became suddenly passionate about wanting a coconut.  Somedays you really really want one.  So, I buy one from a lady who has a lot of coconuts and a machete.  I ask for it to go and she cuts a small hole and puts the straw inside.  When I ask for her to possibly shave it down so I can eat it, she looks at me like I'm a crazy pants and says she doesn't have time.  "Well," I think, "I have a pocket knife."

As we walked out, I realized that pocket knives don't work on coconuts.  Coconuts are hard.  Knives that fold are weak.  So, I asked a dude who cuts watermelon with a butcher knife if he could cut my coconut for 1Q.  After looking at me and realizing I was serious, he said the same thing I realized with the pocket knife: Coconuts are hard.  Butcher knives are weak.  He sent us "atras" to a mysterious dude with a machete. 

Atras was on the road between the tourist market and legit food market.  I was pretty sure that people who sell overpriced flutes to tourists don't carry machetes in their pockets.  Machetes are good self-defense, but not the type of self-defense you would use in the tourist market in Antigua.

So, we resorted to banging it on the wall.  A man across the street saw us banging it against the wall and asked if we needed a machete.  Why yes, yes we did.  He sold jewelry, thus didn't have a machete, but he walked to a truck down the road with a handful of hooligan-looking dudes around it and the truck (of course) had a machete.  The guy borrowed the machete and in the middle of the sidewalk started hacking away at this coconut with all his might.  Watching him work hard to open our coconut confirmed that the pocket knife and the butcher knife would have failed this operation.  Watching the woody remains of the coconut spread out on the unusually clean market sidewalks (because this is Antigua... the clean city) was simultaneously guilt producing and entertaining.  

After a while, the guy finished smacking our coconut to smitherings and we shared some with him and the machete compadre.   It was a good, festive moment where we all felt quite victorious of our little community's victory over the large, tasty coconut.  Then, Kyra and I left happily sharing our coconut and laughing about the ridiculousness of it all. We went to parque, with our pocket knife, and finished our happy treat sitting on the curb.  (Note: If you want to go to Antigua and not be asked to buy a lot of things, sit on the curb with a broken coconut and pocket knife - they will think you're crazy or just not see!) 

Moral of the story:  Sharing is caring.  And, if you go out of your comfort zone to ask strangers for machetes, they may just help you and you will have a lot of fun with it!

Then, later Sunday night, we had a brief time morph into Texas.  Laura is from Texas and, like all good Texans, was excited about the Mavericks game last night.  Her friends who are visiting are also from Texas, and like all excellent Texans, were really excited about the Mavericks game last night.  So, they invited us over to the house they rented to watch the Mavericks and eat cake and nachos.   House+couches+manicured lawn+boxed cake+frosting+moving screen with people on it (aka TV)=delightful bliss of culture shock.  When you add all the Texas spirit (and the fact that the Mavs did win), it is amazing.  Washington doesn't have much basketball following (case in point: we don't have a basketball team) so I entered a whole new world with these Texans. It was a fun new world...

GO MAVS!

And now, I'm going to keep my eyes peeled for 2011 Championship hats and jerseys for the Heat... it's funny how many of the losing team winning apparel appears down here. 

Fire!

continuing my house arrest/recovery ramblings of blogs...  this one is all about fire!

I used to think that I was a good fire maker – I made bonfires on the beach, pretty fires in my fireplace, and have played with some gasoline and candles.   But, here, I’ve learned a few other tricks.

• In order to save matches, use a steak knife over a small piece of wood and smack it with a large piece of wood.  By doing this, you will successfully make a lot of smaller pieces to hold your flame AND you can make the gringa in the room really confused and scared for your 77 year-old life. 
• The best candle holder is the plastic top to the sugar jar… even when it melts and is all deformed. 
• Skyping in the kitchen with woodburning stoves is the best thing ever in the winter/summer (read former blog to decide what word you want to put in there) 
• Fires, well contained, make excellent food!

• Fires make for excellent weed control... so great that you should light all the grass in your entire neighborhood on fire!  (sparklers from a bonfire on open grass with the hopes of setting the whole field on fire...)

•  Leaving children unattended with fire is a-okay 

• Fireworks are the best way to celebrate any holiday... with a bang!  

• Number 6 includes when three gringas realize how cheap they are and light them (they're really good!) in the middle of the street for Easter.
• Fireworks (at least here) are made by child labor and occasionally the firework factories explode.  This causes me a great deal of sadness and debate as to if I should have participated in number 7.
• Beware of having your clothing dry downwind of where you are burning trash.  It will inevitably smell of fire... with an added delightful scent.
• If you work at a hotel and are delivering a pitcher of water to a room and you see two girls trying to light the fire, stop and help.  But first, make sure you move your rifle to the front of you so it is as close to the fire as possible as you lean over it.
  

Seasons

here begins a series of blogs that are scheduled out (because the wonderfulness of blogger allows me to do that!) and are the result of plenty of time for contemplation (aka recovery... aka house arrest).  there's arguably a bit of rambling, a bit of abuel@ inherited wisdom, and a bit of fun... I think that's how life should be! 

I have spent the past 9 months trying to figure out the names of the seasons here... it's more complicated than you would think. When I was a kid, I was taught that north of the equator has summer June-August and winter November-February.  Here, that line isn't as profound.  When I have my student teachers for music class (they come with a wealth of stories for another time), I sit with the kids and often read their text books.  In first grade, they seem to be taught that invierno (winter) is June-August (aka now). In third grade, the books change their mind and June-August suddenly becomes verano (summer).   No wonder everyone gives me different answers or looks at me like I'm a dork for asking!   We're all given mixed messages!  Anyways, here is the case for each: I haven't, and will not, ask about spring and fall... that sounds a bit intimidating.

Right now is Verano (Summer) - That's what the US science books say!  The sun is technically closer to Guatemala during this time so therefore it's summer.  Other reasons:  It's a big farming time (the corn is growing) just like the farming time in the US, it's warm the few hours in the morning when it's not raining, we have tropical storms (not yet... knock on wood), the thunder and lightening is definitely like thunder and lightening storms in the summer in the US, and I am only going to bed with two layers of clothes, my ski hat, and 6 blankets, not 3 layers, my hat, my fleece mittens, and 7 blankets.  Also:  when it rains, I hear you sometimes get to use boats to get to the bus on the other side of the Rotunda!  I associate boats with summer!

Right now is Invierno (Winter) - It rains.  Just like Seattle (oh wait, it rains all the time in Seattle).  It's windy and you don't have nearly as many opportunities for outdoor recreation as you do in "verano" (our winter).  During the day, you're cold and you wear a lot more clothes and rain clothes.  The weather changes really unexpectedly (like Colorado!), there's lots of fog (so much that you sometimes can't find the potty....), and it's what people commonly say....

What do you think?

The other morning...

 

The Way It Is (by William Stafford)

 My house arrest (aka recovery) has left me with a lot of time to be with my family... a giant blessing that I am incredibly thankful for. I think that every day here brings lessons teaches me more thank any given week in college. I also have some downtime (aka facebook time) and when I was looking at my friend's profile, I saw this poem that I then shamelessly stole.  It is so my life right now... both physically (living among weavers bring a lot of thread and questions) and symbolically.   

There's a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain to them about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.










 While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

I've been told I should write a book...

Sometimes opportunities just fall into your lap.  

PLOP.  

I think the opportunity to write a book on Guatemalan medical options and clinics has officially fallen in mine. Or at least Juli says so.  

This year has not been a year of stupendous health.  I'm not sure why, but it hasn't.  My stomach has hated me (details stop there), I have given shelter and food to amoebas, various parasites, and a killer bacterial infection, I have had the flu and various colds approximately every other week, and I got to play with Staph infection.  Fun, right?  Oh wait, it gets funner, my appendix was removed!  (and for that, I get to claim that funner is in fact a word)

But, I'm not so angry about it.  

I was, don't get me wrong.  But, now I'm just content.  The cascade of overwhelming health things out of my control has caused me to learn what brokenness is from the inside out (pun intended).  I have been broken of my addiction to physical activity (it's hard to go on a run when you can't breathe or leave the bano...) and therefore the pride I placed on being fit and able to do anything (because, evidently, I can't).  I have been broken of my pride in being able to eat anything except meat (which was a US distinction I made by choice) because here I seem to have to eat white meat and I can't eat bread. I have been forced to face my weaknesses head on.  Through this brokenness, I've been forced to call out to God and stop running and have learned who He is in a whole new way. And, while all this has been going on, I've had a lot of interesting encounters with Guatemalan medical professionals.

There was the first doctor.  He was a naturalpathic dude and he was very intrigued by the gringa in his office.  So intrigued, in fact, that he didn't really listen and ended up just giving me a ton of green, leafy pills that all looked, smelled, and tasted the same and had no reason for being in my posession.

Then, there was the second doctor.  She was also naturalpathic.  She also didn't listen really well and I ended up on her patient table being told to lay there for 30minutes and think of the color blue.  Then she gave me some drops and sent me on my way.  

Then, the third doctor used Western medicine that I was used to, but he had never heard of Staph infection and didn't seem to knowledgeable about the parasite that I had either.  His meds cost a lot and didn't look promising (I somehow managed to return them for a full refund)

Then, the fourth doctor was the pastor at the Episcopal church.  I had a nasty flu and couldn't move (happy birthday to me!) so we went there and he gave me malaria meds...  not the same.

Then, the fifth doctor was at the free Catholic medical center... she was dynamite!  For the 3 minutes I got to talk to her.

Then, I went to the Mayan doctor.  She is the sister of my host mom and practices traditional Mayan medicine with a hint of Chinese medicine.  She had me point at pictures and then let her pendulum go.  If it moved side to side, I had the ailment in the picture. If it moved in a circle, I didn't.  It was actually ridiculously accurate.  Then, after the diagnoses, we did the same system with what food I should eat.  It said that flour isn't what makes me sick, it's yeast (yay for being able to eat cookies again!), that I should only eat one fruit each Monday (it picked the fruit too), and gave me a tea of different grasses to drink every day for 20 days.  And... as ridiculous as it sounds, all this was WAY MORE effective than any of the aforesaid doctors.  Yay!  

Then, I got major stomach pains and my Mayan doctor said I needed to go to the hospital.  So did my host mom, Marcia, and Tina.  So, I went and... after blood tests, 5 attempts at an IV (with three nurses all not wearing gloves), and a really cold ultrasound (reason 459 for not having a baby), I was diagnosed with appendicitis and got to go into surgery with a 30 minute notice.  About five minutes before, I was informed that I wouldn't be getting general anesthesia, I would get a Spinal Block.  Yay... not really... terrifying!  But, in the end, all went well and I was released from the hospital (after having to call Malea and Kyra to bail me out because I had to pay in cash or I couldn't leave), and now I'm home in the hands of the abuelos who are the best care takers ever (next to Tina who spent the night with me in the hospital!) and their traditional pain remedies are doing a whole lot better than the sketchy pain meds I got from the doctor.

I'm so grateful for all these opportunities (and the ridiculous amount of stories I now have).  I hope that the next 2.5 months don't bring anymore stories, but if they do, I'm ready.  I've gone from blaming God to asking him to help me, and when I accept him on my team, life is a whole lot easier to face.

It's also a lot easier to face when on your team is a super sweet host sister who decorates your room and cleans all your sheets when you come home from the hospital :)

 And my new life mantra:  "Don't plan your life because tomorrow you may get appendicitis in the developing world."