enfermedades

On Sunday afternoon, I set out in the early fall rain to say goodbye to a good friend. The weather had recently cooled, so I had to dig my thicker jacket out of a box in the closet. When I put it on, I found a 5 Boliviano coin in the pocket, smiling and sighing at once. The rain was more of a mist really. My lack of hood wasn’t a problem and my canvas converse shoes held the dampness out. But it was enough to reactivate the runny nose I’d been periodically fighting off for the last two weeks.

I walked up the slight hill about half a mile, listening to Velvet Underground on my ipod. Watching the passing cars splash through the wet road, and leaves waves as raindrops pushed them around put me in a slight trance. Before I knew it I was standing in front of the bar that had operated under at least 5 different names in the four years I had lived in the neighorhood. I walked in the door and found my group; JK3 and her husband, Futurama with two of her coworkers, and the Otto. The warmth of the bar coaxed even more goo from my nose and I sniffled to keep it in check.

I slid up between Otto and Futurama and put an arm on both of their shoulders. They hugged back and we exchanged hellos. In the midst I must have sniffled some more because Futurama asked if I had a cold. “Oh, just the same old runny nose as always,” I said.

And then it hit me. People here are not always sick.

I was doing fine in La Paz for about a week. Then the sniffles hit. Fortunately, for the most part, the kids in my shared dorm room were far more into the clandestine cocaine bar than sleeping at night, so my sniffles were mine alone, and caused minimal disturbance. Though the last night in the room, there was a guy next to me sleeping who had to catch a bus to the lake at 6:30 am. I know my snorting of nasal moisture woke him up a few times.

And then the intestinal problems hit. Nothing awful or urgent, but just a constant reminder that things are “not quite right” there. And annoying climbing down off a top bunk several times in the middle of the night. As Alex put it, I was fully convinced “I’ll never have a normal poo again.” But then eventually things got a little more normal.

And then I went to Cuzco. And then I had my evening of constant farts and burps, and eventual rash which convinced me that the hot pepper I had eaten earlier that day was eating through my stomach lining, and through the inner layers of my skin causing it to get red. Turns out it was just a parasite. And after 5 days of taking nasty pills and not drinking alcohol, it resolved itself.

Three days later I returned to La Paz with a cough in tow. The cough lasted approximately five weeks. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, in the staff room, unable to stop coughing. I felt bad, because these people did not all stay out til 7am at Route 36 every night. Some actually had to work at 7.

That eventually cleared up about a week before I left. Along the way I also had brief relapses of the intestinal problems, as well as sniffles again. I had a cut on my hand that took two days to stop bleeding. A burn on the side of my face (from a stick of incense) that I kept forgetting about and scratching the scab off. I saw three people hobble around after stepping on glass. In essence, my existence in Bolivia was a constant stream of malady.

And then I came back here, and developed a sore throat and sniffles. But never really thought about them as a problem. Just part of life. And then people like Futurama remind me that life can exist without constant disorder. Though strangely, this is the place where institutions and prices make getting medical care and remedies so much more difficult.

So as I walked back from the bar, after giving a last hug (at least for 6 months) to JK and the spouse, I sniffled some more. And again I was reminded of Bolivia. But this time not because of sickness. Instead, because saying goodbye was such a quotidian event there.