Tale of Two Stitches

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I think those words describe the Peace Corps experience. Or at least I'm told. The highest highs and the lowest lows. I think those are just Dickens' words rephrased.

All kinds of things happen during Peace Corps, just like would happen during any given two years of your typical American life. They also include a few other experiences that typically don't happen in the States. Now, while many people receive stitches back home, I never did. Never a broken bone, never a stitch. You can't really say I'm not the adventurous type, I mean you are talking to a Peace Corps Volunteer... which leads me to recounting the glorious tale of my first two stitches. I'll spare you the graphic photos I had to send to the Medical Officer. But if you really want to see, I posted one on facebook a few days ago.

Honestly, I wish there was a really crazy story that involved machetes, wild rabid animals (don't worry, I'm vaccinated), and me rescuing several small children from a burning building. But it doesn't. The story starts at the high school here in town. It was "student day" which means no classes, games, food, and general tomfoolery. The teachers keep trying to get me to play the games, because they (and I) think if I play, all the girls will want to participate, too. I'm resisting for most of the games, enjoying just watching people do the three-legged race (which I think was a first for most of them).

Then comes the gunny-sack race.

There are six sacks, and they've managed to finagle 5 volunteers so far. They don't seem to be moving on, so I volunteer to take up the sixth, and smallest, gunny-sack to the applause of the students. The gunny sack reaches about mid-thigh, meaning I definitely have to be leaning forward to grab onto it. We line up on the raceway (read: gravel-dirt road). We race down to the end of the track, and prepare to turn around. Turn executed properly. I managed to kick a hole through my sack and was left with my foot hanging out. I spun the sack to get my both of my feet back in the bag. We take off back towards the start and a guy falls in front of me. I don't think I even tripped on him, I was just focused on tactically avoiding the obstacle and down I went. I got back up and finished the race, noting the obvious scratches on my hand. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the fact that there aren't very many nerve endings in your knee, or that there were thirty-something high school girls watching me, but I didn't really notice my knee.

At first, anyway.

I noticed I tore a hole in my jeans, which I remember hurting more than the physical pain. We're in short supply of malls that sell Levi's down here. Then through the hole in my jeans I could see the blood. And the gaping hole where my knee usually is! Some lucky rock had managed to puncture my skin and whatever else was in the way, trying to get to me knee-cap. Probably that same lucky rock that ripped a hole in my jeans. We spent some time in the back of the school trying to clean up my bloody mess with cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and tiny bandaids (that part was unsuccessful). A few people scoured the town to find some gauze pads only to return empty handed. They kept telling me to wait, they were still looking, etc. I finally told them I had a med kit with gauze pads and all kinds of other magical items back at the house if they would just let me leave. I stumble the two blocks back to the house, do a good cleanup job and tape on some gauze. At this point I just needed to lay down and take it easy.

I left.

I had made this commitment to the missionary group that was here to attempt some interpretation. I remember how difficult it is when people are saying all sorts of good things about you, thanking you, maybe crying and you have no idea. So I stumble back a few blocks to the church and head up to the front, now embarrassingly in shorts and flip-flops in an attempt not to irritate the wound. Interpreting is as hard or harder than it sounds, but luckily I had a friend there to help with the English-to-Spanish parts (i.e. most of it). One of the missionaries came up towards the end and mentioned to me that I might be bleeding. I look down my leg to find the evidence. They then discover my current situation and wounded status. Fortunately one of them tells me the cut looks deep enough to require stitches. They offered to help with the needles and thread they had (and no trained professionals). As sweet as that was, I resisted and got the number for the doctor in town since it was after-hours at the clinic. I explained it was sort of an emergency and she agreed to come to the clinic and help me out.

This is ugly.

She said it several times as I was staring at the ceiling trying to breathe as she poured rubbing alcohol over the open wound and dug around checking for bone shrapnel. All clear. I don't think I'll need an X-ray. She puts in the two stitches, patches it up with gauze and tells me to take it easy for a while. Minimal to no walking for a few days, some antibiotics and anti-inflammatories, and after a week we'll take out the stitches. I headed over to my friend's house to get some movies for the long weekend in bed.

The whole ordeal wasn't even that bad, it's just not very fun not being able to walk and being stuck in bed all weekend. Seems to be healing well and I'm able to sleep again, so now we just wait. And for all those people that think "third-world" medicine is crazy and unsanitary and are surprised they didn't just amputate my leg... it's not that bad. And the best part, the trip to the clinic after-hours and the two stitches totals a whopping 50¢, which Peace Corps would even reimburse. I can only imagine how much this ordeal would cost in the States, all for a small aquarium, comfy stools, and unused needles (just kidding!).


Well, if you feel bad for me, feel free to take this opportunity and send me a package. I'm not picky, but I really like chocolate and it's impossible to find here. You can find my address at the right.


Meanwhile, I'm so glad I could finally get back to work today...


Location: In the Cooperative.
Status: Meeting with the supervisory board. Going on 6 (now 7) straight hours with a short lunch break.
Current topic of conversation: Why the associates don't come to meetings...