Some good news (March 12)

My mom called Monday night to check up on me and the eye. I tried my best to come up with positive things to tell her while I watched a five foot snake (from my balcony) slither in & out of the shadows in the tall grass below. She asked me to have positive things to say next time we would speak.
My next phone call to her was Wednesday night, and I tried my best: My hospital room is quite nice. Single occupancy, AC, TV and private bathroom.

Happy two month anniversary in Ghana!
Happy birthday to Jack, also! I’d rather be celebrating his quarter century dressed for the ‘school girls for school boys’ theme. Instead I’m dressed in a hospital gown complemented with an IV corsage.

I seem to always have something to complain about, even at home. That’s something I’ve really wanted to work on here, since temptation to be bitter exists at every step. Sweat, crowded classrooms, and teachers I don’t understand, changing classrooms with no notice… It can all be very frustrating. I started on a tirade Wednesday before class, using another US student as my (un)willing ear. He just shrugged saying, “Yeah but that’s just how it is,” as we squeezed into a corner on the floor for a two hour lecture.
His response was simple but effective – that’s just how it is. Grow up, stop demanding things be my way (which I do at home also), and stop whining.

First huge self-discovery here: I am not chill & relaxed. I’m uptight and demanding. When I told Jack of my sudden realization he laughed and said I could’ve saved a lot of money and tears if I had listened to him. But, I have to know myself before I can let anyone else identify me.

So, I’m in search of finding brighter lights everywhere I go.

The lights in the hospital are pretty bright, and blackouts last only a moment until the generator kicks in. My friends stop by to visit and enjoy the AC. Not sure how much longer I’ll be here (2 nights & counting) since I’m not supposed to walk. Not even on crutches. Ghana isn’t exactly handicap accessible either.

What happened? Once again, I have no flopping clue. My leg started hurting Sunday – intensely sharp pains in my calf muscle. The only evidence was a big, hard, red, hot circle on my lower leg. A bug bite? Spider bite? I lay in bed that night with tears rolling down my cheeks, hot with frustration. When does something hurt badly enough to wake someone to take me to the hospital? If it wasn’t a leg issue I would’ve just walked.
(A full week and minor surgery later I’m afraid to ask when something is bad enough to call it quits and retreat home…)

Talking to Jack calmed my nerves a bit, but I ignored his plea to go to the hospital. It felt good enough to walk on the next few days, so I soldiered on. These things cure themselves on their own typically – like my cyst, right?

Wednesday night my leg exploded in pain. I was at a student dinner and finally had to leave – after going through the buffet line. I couldn’t swallow the tears anymore and walking five feet to the buffet table was agony. Jenn helped me to a taxi and I gladly overpaid.

The receptionists at the hospital recognized me so I didn’t have to wait long. They thought it was my eye again, but the sobs and severe limp revealed a new ailment. I refused a wheelchair, but they refused my pride. I just kept thinking “it can’t be that serious. It’s a freaking bite or sting. Give me the magic pill and some crutches and tell me to limp my ass back next week. I’ll be here for my eye appointment anyway.” I felt like a cry baby.

By this time my calf, ankle and foot were swollen in a hard, red, hot mass. The doctor took a look and went into action. He ordered IV antibiotics, painkillers and asked if I wanted a single or shared room. (Hmm…)

Jenn did her best to keep my mind off the pain, “What do you call a girl with one leg?”
“Elieen!” haha

Apparently this deserved immediate medical attention. At least no one could accuse me of faking. Earlier that afternoon I was called out for not helping carry benches to class. I told him my leg hurt severely from what (I thought) was a bug bite. He wanted to call me a ‘(insert word for cat)’ and I couldn’t do anything to convince him otherwise.

The nurses tried to comfort me, saying “Stop crying. Why are you crying?” I wasn’t being exaggerated, I wasn’t wailing. This time when she asked why I was crying my sobs came to a sudden halt – I inhaled deeply and sucked back the snot so my words would be clear. My head looked up in slow motion; I didn’t know what would come out.
“Because it hurts!”
And I sat back with three whimpers and another sob/choke.

I’m really surprised that’s all I said. (When that nurse dressed my wound a few days later, shoving tweezers and gauze into what looks like a bullet hole – explanation to follow – I didn’t make a sound to prove my pain tolerance; those sobs were completely justified.)

These inexplicable troubles make me feel lame. Along with saying Africa is the white man’s grave, it’s also said it’s not for the weak.

Jack’s frustration is that I act as if I’m invincible. As a human, obviously I’m destructible, but I want to be unshakable, unconquerable… I didn’t attempt any gallant feats for my recent injuries; I just woke up with them.
I’m frustrated because the challenges I face every day get me down and I’m not as durable as I thought.

I want to apologize to any who worry about me. My intention was to shock you with the conditions and challenges of life here, and that I can endure them, but I didn’t wish it to be like this. If any consolation – I am in a clean hospital with wonderful nurses and doctors. They are friendly, the food is good, and I have plenty to entertain myself. This is what I would be doing in my dorm room anyway, but here I have AC and a bed that tilts.

Use whatever power you believe helps someone miles away – prayer, chants, vibes, pourin’ some out for your homies… Even if it doesn’t help me it might help you feel better.

In my search for Self I’ve discovered selfishness. I hope not to say that any person’s search for himself is selfish, but I see a fine line in my current condition. I gallantly justified and protected my reasons for coming to Ghana when I really didn’t have a clue. My approach was to hope for the best, come back with good stories to tell, and have as much fun as possible in the hard times. That was how I measured my strength – how I would cope with uncertainty. Unfortunately, laying here in the hospital bed, I’ve found my strength is in those who care about me. When I’m the cause of a falter in their strength I don’t have what it takes to rescue everyone I’ve brought down with me.

I’m also learning that anyone who wants to pursue a life of travel should know basic medicine. I don’t have a clue. My logical suggestions - Should we dress the wound that just burst? Maybe drain it? Maybe do a culture of the infection? Maybe do something besides watch it get bigger? - are met with an unsure stare from some staff. It’s hard to be assertive when I don’t have a clue either.

I’m terrible in these situations because I can’t demand someone to do a job that I don’t know how to do. The result is more concern from my parents with no clear line of communication and I feel sick with guilt for causing the whole mess. I am so sorry. The whole trip seems like such a sick way to prove how independent and strong I want to be. There is a way to prove myself without disrupting the normal, peaceful pace of life of my friends and family. My Self, my pain, my worries are not my own because they are involuntarily shared by so many around me. The selfishness is not in seeking my Self; it is in risking my Self, the Self that others would not forgive themselves for letting go.

In the absence of my own tough spirit I hope everyone at home can accept that my friends here have stepped in to develop a physical foundation on your behalf. They are not replacing you or your efforts; they serve to build my strength so I can reverse the transgression of self searching turned selfishness.

We laugh at my breakdowns over ridiculous inefficiencies that I haven’t learned to tolerate. We laugh when my sweat turns into actual meltdowns. We laugh about the ill deeds I’ve committed that must’ve caused my current misfortune. And when I ask when the next flight home departs, they bring me guacamole, play with my hair, demand that the nurses take care of me, watch Sex in the City cuddled in my hospital bed, and cancel weekend travel plans because I’m not assertive enough in my medical care.

Thank you Mom, Dad & Whitney for keeping your cool. This is really not a big deal, but I feel horrible that is has escalated to seem so.

I owe you big time and will stay away from the Healer for the rest of your gifts.