Urological. -No, I'm quite logical, thank you, I just have kidney issues.

The urologist I was sent to in Panama City, Panama did a CT scan and found two stones in my left kidney. I don't know if the ultrasound in GT was wrong, or if maybe I passed some stones without knowing it. He said my kidney was getting pretty roughed up, and wouldn't delay the surgery (a catheter search and rescue, and then maybe a cut into the kidney if necessary) for mom to be there in time.

Walking into the hospital that day, little by little, I gave up my freedoms, mobility, independence. It started with the wheelchair escort to my room. I was not allowed to transport myself where I needed to be. The abandonent of my clothes and undergarments for a gown. Nurses putting on the stockings for me, and then tucking me into bed to await the surgery. "Tengo que quedarme?" I asked them ("Do I have to stay (here)?") I was interrupted by another nurse coming to put in an IV. After he left, I returned to my task of hanging washed clothes in the little closet to dry, now toting the IV rack behind me. I lay, vulnerable and out of control over myself, on my hospital bed as they wheeled me to the operating room. They injected sleep stuff into my veins, and then gas. I was guided on when and how to lose consciousness.

Coming to, not being able to remember or control what had just happened to me, I was unable to wake up when I wanted to. I was unable to talk, as I tried to do, at first. I reached my room, and I was unable to move onto my own bed, nurses did it for me. I awoke to tubes coming out of me; all I could do was lay there, as even trying to infiltrate my betraying body had to infiltrate my self, too. I couldn't move, get comfortable, try to function on my own. I was foreign to myself.

I felt so helpless, as I lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for mom to arrive. At least she was still the same; her love, too. The next morning, as my body lay, still incarcerated, my reign over what happens externally was still obliterated as the nurses came to begin my day. It was bathing-time, and I quickly learned to let go of modesties and accept reliance upon others (strangers, mothers), however coerced. After that voyage into the sponge bath, my new challenge became sitting up, standing up and relocating to the chair. How do you move with tubes all in you? With attached baggage to look out for? I, who used to be unable to blow my nose in front of others, had my liquids seeping out of my body into clear bags that I and others had to carry around.

There are 1,001 little stories like this that came out of my 5 nights in the hospital, but the point was, I had to humble myself and open myself up to manipulation, scrutiny, weakness, facts of life, assistance. I had to hold onto the feeling of differences with my body on the outide, as we attempted to get rid of the differences with my body on the inside. Continually aware of the catheter poking out of my bad, even when the bag was detached. The doctor wanted to be able to put it back in if my kidney didn't seem to be draining correctly. I had a tube in my back. I couldn't lay too harsh on it, I certainly couldn't move onto my side, I couldn't sleep on my stomach, either.

Once the catheter was removed, I noticed an immediate change in comfort and absence of pain, though still aware of the gaping hole in my back. As a kid (and adult, even), I was so fascinated and engrossed by my littlest of wounds, scraped knees, cut fingers, blistered feet - as something different was happening than supposed to. I really enjoyed employing the use of Band-Aids.

These experiences were significant to me because they were infrequent.

I had to wait 26 years to spend some time in a hospital, which is pretty darn lucky, I'd say. Praise God for my mostly healthy body, because I'd rather experience the newness of this kind of vulnerability than the prevalence of continued vulnerabilities, limitations and immodesties of other health issues that many others do.

Urological. -No, I'm quite logical, thank you, I just have kidney issues.

How often have you woke up and glorified in these facts:

Yay, I get to wear underwear today!
Yay, I get to wash myself today!
Yay, I get to pee today! I get to pee in a toilet today!
Yay, I get to walk around, unencumbered!
Yay, I get to use my body how it's supposed to be used!

These proclamations, and millions more, I fear, do not get glorified enough.

I'm healthy and I'm young. A person can get used to that. Get used to the freedoms that health gives you. Come to expect stability from your body, no matter what happens. This can lead to underappreciating your body, or pushing your body too far, or being lax on upkeep of it.

At the very least, it can lead to impatience when something does go awry. And alarm and fear at this new development. A sensation of betrayal of yourself by your body.

This is how I've felt with these kidney stones, at least. It started as abdomen pain I couldn't really pinpoint. It went away, only with time, on it's own schedule. When it left, I forgot it, until it happened again. A few sleepless nights over a month or so, while I tried to change my diet a bit, maybe it was intestinal. It happened during the day once, and I had to go home from work I was so sick. I cried at this confusing, painful thing happening to my body.

It made me feel like I didn't want to move, like I wanted to arch my back to relieve the pressure within my abdomen, an ache that went from my lower back down to the soles of my feet. It hurt to breathe deep, it felt like muscles were tensing and never relaxing, like someone was jabbing me slowly and thoroughly with a butter knife in my sides. It didn't matter what kind of food I ate, how/where it was cooked, or if I drank alcohol. I couldn't figure it out.

The ER in KC found a slight kidney infection and gave me antibiotics. Was I being a wimp with the pain? Because it didn't feel like a slight anything, and certainly not for a problem so ongoing. I couldn't properly describe what my body was doing to me, and the problem did not get solved. After returning to my site, the pain came back, less intense, but more frequent. I ignored it until I had to take strong pain killers to feel ok. I knew I couldn't ignore this any longer. I'd have to interrupt my life, put all my attention on my body, to figure this out.

After a day of travelling to GT to get to the PC doctors and the worst pain I'd experienced yet, I finally got an ultrasound that finally found something tangible and foreign in me that was causing the pain.

And that's how I found myself in a hospital bed in Panama City, hooked up to two different catheters, an IV, a sore throat from intibation and those circulation stocking things.

Undiagnosed physical pain is one sort of corporal trumping and impatience; being a hospital patient is a whole other story...

Where There is No Doctor

"Quick! What do you do in an emergency?"
-"Call my mum!"

That about sums it up. That, and if it's really bad - call 911. Because you know you'll get relief, you know you'll get your wound repaired. There's someone out there, with the magic words, touches and tablets that'll make it go away and get better. You assume it. "It'll be OK." "Do this and it'll be better." How sheltered, lucky, provided for are we?

What happens when this isn't so? Nothing to depend on, no expected understanding or solutions, securities. It is out there.

No neck braces, no defibrillators, no other beeping machines, no white jacket that indicates authority, knowledge and instruction.

What if you never have that feeling of "It's ok. It's good. I am safe, I am looked after."

Doctors. Parents. GOD.

Life without these securities? Dimmed. ?

"Don't worry about a thing, cuz every little thing's gonna be all right." - Bob Marley. Well, that's one take on things.

But - What, then, do you DO?

The posts after this, the one's marked "Where There Is No Doctor," are different encounters of accidents and emergencies I've witnessed or been a part of here in Guyana. I think the instances themselves provoke sufficient thought into the realities and frailties of life in all corners of the world.

Where There is No Doctor

As Jess and I walked back from CH, we saw a vehicle stop at the Health Post. Which was curious, because it's closed for the night, and really, there's not much stocks there to be of use. That's the thing about being isolated, you tend to notice all motors passing through, near or over the village. We assumed it was CH returning from their afternoon away. Mary went that way, maybe to look for the Health Worker or something, and then she comes pedalling back to us as we walk to her house, saying how Miss Eleanor was in an accident on the road and CH vehicle found her and her leg is all messed up and blood....

Jess has some experience in first aid and injuries, being a former gymnast and gymnastics coach, and decided to go check out Eleanor while I went to Novellena's. When Franzea and I left Nova's, we went to the Health Post, which had a gaggle of spectators and Jess, the CHW and Alice surrounding Eleanor on a mattress on the floor. She'd dislocated her hipbone when she fell upon her Dad's motorbike, going home from the phone booth. CH vehicle just happened to pass her right after it happened and carried her back to the Health Post. There wouldn't be much traffic at night time on the road. Her leg was forced up and out of socket and she had an abrasion on one leg. Alice gave her some codeine which slowly kicked in, and at Jess's encouraging, the CHW attempted to pop the hip back in, though Eleanor was screaming...

They tried to get a hold of RAM - Remote Area Medical - to see if a small airplane could be flown in to carry her to the hospital in Lethem, but they couldn't be called. So, the vehicle that did the hired carry for CH got commissioned to carry in Eleanor. And if the car's already going, why not Novellena, too? Two mattresses were slid into the bed of the truck, 3 pillows and two blankets were gathered from around. The CHW went, Jess went, Mike went and Rhomayne drove, at the speed of probably 20 mph over the bumpy terrain, as to not overly jar Eleanor's propped up, popped out leg.

The trip took almost 4 hours, double the normal time to Lethem, which is probably doubly as long as it'd take to drive there if the road was paved. According to Jess, when they got there, the doctor wasn't around, yadda yadda. In the morning, they popped Eleanor's leg back into place and said they wanted to keep her for two weeks. According to Novellena, who came back Sunday afternoon, she needs to go back for surgery, though she doesn't know what for. We're not all that sure that the doctors said she could be released, either.

And apparently, Eleanor's gone MIA from the hospital, as well. Lord just hope she hasn't come back to the village upon motorbike.

Where There is No Doctor

Novellena was playing football with all the boys in the afternoon. There are male and female teams in the village, though in the afternoon is more informal games, that mostly males seem to play. A few ladies, like Novellena and the two Juliets, will play with them, though the Juliets were gone for the day. Jess and I remarked at how spunky Nova was for playing with the competitive males.

But then that night, as Jess and I played Phase 10 with Lucy, Evenena, Nova's mother, came to our house, asking for some medicine for Nova, because she had pain in her side. It's troubled her since she was a girl. Jess gave her some strong pain killers and I gave her some tablets to calm a stomach.

Afterwards we went to CH to check mail, and we met Mary, Nova's sister, who was coming up to ask CH for medicine for Nova, "because of her appendix." More medicine, different medicine, who knows. No one was back at CH yet, though Jess looked for different meds, though while doing so, we asked Mary if Nova had taken the pain killers we'd given her. Mary said she didn't know, she just wanted to come up and see if CH had appendix medicine. We told her to go check, because we didn't want her to mix strong meds. We didn't see how it could be her appendix, but speculated maybe a kidney problem, a hernia or maybe a cyst in her ovaries. She was crying and in a lot of pain, apparently. Mary didn't seem to know what was going on, nor did she seem to take in our advice, so while we were walking, we decided to go check on Nova and talk to her mom.

Jess and I split up, and it was I who walked to the house, Nova crying in a hammock, Franzea with her and Evenena around. Nova's father stumbles in the room, drunk and trying to gaff me about nothingness, oblivious. Evenena describes where Nova's pain has been, how it has troubled her off and on since she was Rosie's age (the youngest daughter in the family) and pointing to Rosie's youthful potbelly where something stuck out of Nova's when she was younger. They went to the doctors once (I'm assuming in Lethem), who said she was too small for an operation at the time. I explained about not mixing meds, and offered what I thought it could be, and then extracted myself from the house, gaining distance from intoxication, ignorance, unattended pain and helplessness.

Where There is No Doctor

I had come home from training to no one around, so I relaxed in the back of the house. I emerged a few minutes after I heard voices in the front and had a laugh with my host mother and her friends because they thought I wasn't home. I'd gone back inside to the kitchen, when I heard a thick thudding crash outside, a metallic one that, though I don't remember ever hearing before, could only be thought of as a car crash. As I stood, processing that, my host mother and her friends ran out the drive to look...

About 4 houses down the street, a 4x4 had collided with a motorcycle with two male passengers on it. The car was headfirst into the trench, the two males on the bike were thrown into the trench.

A crowd gathered and mayhem ensued. One man was proclaimed dead on the spot - by the bystanders. The other one lost a foot and was dying as the women stood wailing in the streets. Some men dragged those on the bike out from the trenches and sort of moved them around, and I muttered to my host mother about calling for an ambulance. She responded that there were no ambulances.

There was one, maybe two in the car, I remember one crawling out the window, unscathed. He had been drinking, I heard. Accidents are common on this main road on the coast. This road goes from Supenaam to Charity (maybe 25 miles) on the Essequibo Coast, and bicycles, motorcycles, taxis, cars, trucks, bullock carts, mini buses, goats, cows, horses, pedestrians and more all frequent it. Traffic is fast and swerving, and I am not sure there's even a speed limit.

Though accidents are no stranger to the coast, the anguish these people felt was so keen. One of the men's mothers was beside herself on the road, wailing, falling to the ground. Meena, my host mother, comforted her a little, though, she, too, was distraught; her son, Shiva, had died only 4 years earlier - a car accident as well - and it was clear she was reliving it.

I felt so strange, I felt a call of duty to try and organize structure, administer First Aid; I mean, I was a Peace Corps Trainee, for gosh sakes! But my First Aid knowledge extended to knowing that if you don't know what you're doing, don't stick your nose in it, you could mess things up worse, and after hearing there were no ambuances to call, I didn't really know what else to do.

I felt pulled forward to the mourning mother, and I put my arms around her for a few minutes, trying to murmur "It's going to be ok" to her, not really knowing if it was true. I've never seen death before. And it felt like this death, this accident had no answers.

The other man died, on the road, as a vehicle was finally obtained and was taking him to the nearest hospital. Apparently, the onlookers later took things into their own hands; the intoxicated was not charged with anything, and so a crowd found him and got physical with him.

Immediately, that night, people began visiting the houses of the two men lost; it was the start of a "13-day" vigil, where people would visit, sit, mourn, play games and eat food each night. The two lived close together, we needed only to walk a few houses down to each home of loss.

We visited several of the following nights. I'll never forget the impressions made on me by the sound of the crash and the wailing of the mother...