I’m sorry for the lack of posts in the last two weeks. This has been my time for a brief return to the US before departing for Mexico, and I have been doing what I can to live into the moment, be present with my friends and family, and focus myself on the year to come.

As of now, I am at YAGM Orientation in Chicago, and it has been unbelievably cool to reconnect with all the people I met at the DIP (interview) event back in April, and to form new relationships with some of the people that I didn’t get a chance to spend time with back then, too. It has been an affirming and loving three days, and I am continually overwhelmed by the excitement that I could not be serving with a more incredible group of people.

Of particular importance to me has been our morning workshops, a series called Packing Your Soul’s Backpack, which relates to some “new” spiritual practices we might want to take with us on our year of service and beyond. The first tool we picked up was Centering Prayer, which I think was difficult for many of my fellow YAGM, but for me finally felt like a worship space I could enter into without hesitation. During the process of applications, interviews, placements, preparations, and now orientation, I have sometimes had to remind myself that our spiritual communities aren’t always what we might first choose for ourselves, and that more important (to me) than sharing creeds or worship practices is forming those communities and living fully in them. But through speaking with Pastor Goinia, our Backpacks presenter, and sharing what has been called “The Quaker Connection” with my fellow YAGM, I’ve slowly been realizing that while I might not be ready to start attending a Lutheran Church again, many of the tools I use to worship can be welcomed resources in Lutheran circles.

My fellow YAGM and the Alum Teams have been asking me thoughtful and thought-provoking questions about my beliefs throughout the week. Yesterday eight (!) YAGM decided to use their last opportunity for Sunday morning worship to attend Quaker Meeting with me in Hyde Park. So cool.

Okay. Back to orientation sessions. I'll try to write again before I depart, but the next time you hear from me I may be in Mexico!!

and I will call him.... Manuel.

Sick again. This one’s been a bit more of an ordeal.

I will say again that I don’t recommend getting sick in a foreign country as a new hobby for anyone, but I’ve gotten sick in several different countries, and I have to say that Guatemala is not at all the worst. In fact, despite the draw-back that you’re more likely to get repeatedly sick here than in Germany, I’ve really been more satisfied with the kind of good-natured, gentle care I’ve received here, in contrast to the gruff, matter-of-fact professionals of modern Europe. Plus, antibiotics are super cheap here, and even something simple like ibuprofen is expensive enough to justify taking out a second mortgage on your home in Germany.

Let me apologize, as well, for allowing this blog to morph into something that primarily has to do with my illnesses. I don't know exactly what makes me think this is the best thing to write about. Maybe it's just because if I didn't write about being sick, all I'd have to tell you is that Spanish classes are going well. I started taking weaving classes this week, too, and I love that more than I could have imagined. I've also I've been watching TV to keep myself in bed (I’m out of books again), and the Simpsons are hard to understand. I went to the Chichicastenango market last weekend, and it was really crowded, but kind of a cool experience. been able to get to know the family of my weaving teacher, which has been interesting. One of her daughters is an English teacher, and I’m going to visit her class on Monday night. Less than a week remains of my time in Guatemala. I’m tired and ready to come home for orientation, but I’ll also miss this place in a way I don’t think even I understand yet.

These things don't seem like exciting things, to me. But if you don't want to read this nonsense, I understand. I'm doing much better now, and things, overall, and going great.

Since you already know the general process of going to the health department, I’ll save you the details of the ailment and the journey. I’ll just say that last Sunday, I got stuck out in what was undoubtedly the strongest downpour I’ve seen in a depressingly rainy five weeks, and at one point I was wading through the knee-high river that had taken over the street. I had my umbrella with me, but it did little to protect me from the rain splashing upward. Perhaps the only thing that kept me in a halfway-good mood in that situation was the guy that passed me, without an umbrella but just as dry, and shared the worst Forrest Gump impression I’ve ever heard: sometimes rain even seems to come straight up from underneath!

I didn’t think a lot about this adventure, but I guess the dampness that persisted through my dinner and the cold that set in that night after the storm was enough to knock me off balance. I have been in an American Gladiator style fight to the death with this nasty flu bug that has made three rounds at the school. So far, I was the clear champion. But oh, how I got double teamed by that little guy and the rain.

Monday during the day I felt a little congested, but didn’t put too much thought into it. But by Monday night, I couldn’t sleep for the insane, hallucination-producing fever that kept my whole body shaking and my teeth rattling despite the three wool blankets I hijacked from my host family’s beds. I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure at some point, I was using the tassels on my bedspread to say the rosary (I’ve been reading a book about a catholic family. Don’t judge.), and my umbrella was talking to me in Mary Poppins’ voice. Occasionally, the physical sensation of the fever would break, and I’d jump out of bed happily, convinced it was all a very bad dream, but then go running into the bathroom and remember that this was real. Very real. And the night was only halfway over.

Tuesday at breakfast, I wasn’t hungry and I clearly wasn’t in any condition to go to class. Rosa called the school and I went back to bed. By the afternoon, I had slept as much as I could, and I was fighting the boredom that was trying to convince me to go walking around town. “You’ll feel better!” it insisted. I wouldn’t. After a lunch of get-well-soup that Rosa so kindly cooked for me, but I still didn’t want to eat, she convinced me to go to the health department again. The doctor was nice enough (he even spoke a little English, and happily helped me look up the words I wasn’t understanding in my dictionary), but the news that I had a throat infection, a kidney infection, and an intestinal infection—this most likely due to some variety of irritating parasite—was not welcome.

Pause. Do you remember when I got stung by the bee in Germany and my foot swelled up until I couldn’t wear shoes or walk? Steffi took me to the doctor after three days then, worried that the swelling wasn’t going down, despite our treatments (cold water and onions). But my German wasn’t perfect at that point, and when the doctor said, “Well, thankfully, it doesn’t look like you have an infection…” I only heard “infection,” and I freaked out. So, when this doctor said the word parásito, I checked my fear, laughed, and double-checked: “But at least I DON’T have a parasite, right?”

“No. Sorry. I can’t be sure without sending samples to the lab, but most likely… well, we usually see this kind of thing in touristas who have contracted parasites.” In my mind, I can see myself wading through that water on Sunday night. I think about all the stray dogs, and the dismal state of sanitation in San Pedro. I think I’m going to puke. I’m not sure if it’s because of my train of thought, or my friend, who I have since named Manuel.

Yes. I named it. Yes. Manuel.

So, the doctor gave me a variety of antibiotics, decongestants, pain relievers, fever reducers, re-hydrators, and whatnot (yes, you read that right, he GAVE them to me. For free.), a complicated schedule of when to take them—some every four hours, some every six, some every eight, some every twelve—and sent me on my merry way, saying my prayers that he didn’t suspect dengue (there has been a recent outbreak in Guatemala, and a couple cases in the district. I was nervous.). Wednesday I went back to class because I was just too bored to stay in bed any longer. I also started taking weaving lessons. But all week, I’ve been going to bed around 8, or, honestly, earlier, and walking very slowly, taking breaks on the big hills I had just gotten used to climbing without getting out of breath.

And so, Manuel. As in:

“Hey, Kat, do you want to go get a beer after class?”

“Man! Well, I want to, but I can’t drink on these antibiotics.”

Or:

“Hey, Kat, are you going to salsa lessons tonight?”

“Aww maaaan. Well the thing is I’m just worn out and me and my parasite, Manuel, are going to bed early.”

I hope he goes away soon. I’m tired of him. I’m also tired of pedialyte, which tastes like warm milk here, and I don’t think is doing anything to make me feel better.