Dreamless

       For over a month now, I have not remembered a single dream. At most, I may have a vague hunch about the topic presented subconsciously while I slept, but that’s it. Perhaps, to you, this might not sound strange, but for me, dreams are just as much a part of my reality as, well, reality is. They are how I process and make sense of the world. I thought dreams would guide me through this experience, just like the brought me here. But lately, they just seem to slip through my finger-tips, and it leaves me feeling a little lost. 

       Just now, I lit a candle to help me ponder why, this month in particular, I can’t remember my dreams. I have a little clay bowl next to my candle, in which I put my used match sticks in. Well, the pyro in me couldn’t resist setting a lit match into the pile of tiny sticks to make my own miniature camp fire. I was very excited about this, until it I realized it was getting a little too big for comfort. It was getting slightly out of control, making sparks and cracking noises, so in a mild panic I quickly blew it out. As the flames disappeared and smoke arose from the ashes, so did insight about my dream quandary. I’ve had too many matches going at once.

       Since starting work, I have enthusiastically said yes to every opportunity to help. I am currently a Researcher, Fundraiser, English Teacher, Event Planner, Social Activist, Nurse, Social Anthropologist, Fly on the Wall, Proposal Writer, Student, Consultant, Baby Sitter, and of course, Activities Coordinator. On top of all that, I am walking the tight rope of slightly confusing, sometimes lonely, cross cultural living. While I absolutely love my work and my colleagues, everything is escalating so quickly and I am starting to feel a bit tired. No longer have I been able to reflect on a single candle flame, instead, I am too focused on how to keep my pile of burning matches under control. My subconscious brain can’t get through to me under such pressure and distraction. 

       So I think what my subconscious needs, is for me to shorten my “to do” list, and especially shorten my stress-inducing “should do” list. I need to blow out a few matches in order be rejuvenated by the fire, instead of stressed out by it. This advent season, I want to wake up in the morning with enough clarity and ease, to let whatever the Divine and my subconscious came up with over night, to sink in and guide me through my days once again.

Fuzzy Purple Crocodile

    
       It has been just over two months since I arrived in Nepal. I laugh at how far I’ve come since my first few days and I am proud of my small accomplishments. I am no longer afraid to cross the street, I’ve taken all forms of transportation successfully, I know a bit of Nepali, I've made friends with my Nepali community, I feel comfortable in my house and neighborhood, I can eat a ridiculous amount of rice without feeling pain, and I have even gained some good weight and strength! And just as I was starting to become proud of the fact that I’d never caught a stomach bug.... WHAM! A microscopic, god-forsaken bug of pure evil knocked me down to what felt like square one. 

       I experienced hours of violent vomiting and diarrhea. My kidneys screamed in pain for water. Sweating, chills, and moaning. Eventually, I could no longer get out of bed without blacking out and just hurled over the side into a bucket. My host family was obviously very concerned and fixed me up some Oral Rehydration Solution (ORS). I was SO thirsty, but as soon as I swallowed anything, it immediately brought on another bout of vomiting. I felt like Dumbledore in the sixth book, when he had to drink the cursed solution out of the basin of Voldermort’s cave in order to reach the horcrux. I knew I had to drink, because I was getting badly dehydrated, but the vomiting after the fact was horrible.

      I felt do defeated. Here I was in rapid decline, and there was nothing I could do to stop it! Not even my stubbornness could will me to get better.  I was a delirious, semi-hallucinating, barely conscious blob of misery. My brain was so whacked that I no longer understood any Nepali being spoken to me. And I could forget trying to speak any Nepali other than the word “waak waak” (which means vomit).  

       Eventually, after semi-hallucinating a fuzzy purple crocodile standing next to my closest, we decided that I needed to go to the hospital. That was easier said than done. I would walk about five steps before my vision would go black, and my body felt like it was covered in hot nettles. Nausea would hit me like a truck and I’d crumble. The journey from my bed to the ER is all a blur now. I recall a taxi, Pooja holding me, multiple doctors slapping and bending my wrists to get an IV in, and then sweet sweet relief. 

       It felt so great to have some energy back, and most of all, to have gone an hour or two without feeling like my insides were crawling out of me (although my back still hurt pretty badly). I’m not sure how many hours I was in the ER but eventually I felt up to going back home to rest. But after attempting to walk about thirty feet I was hunched over on a chair once again with horrible vertigo and nausea. My legs trembled as I tried to walk to the taxi. Well, the doctor assisting my departure didn’t like how this was going and suggested I stay the night to recover and get my strength back. And that’s how I got admitted. 

       I stayed two nights in the hospital. I was diagnosed with parasites, a bacterial infection, and dehydration. Now this hospital, while adequate, was definitely not up to the standards of cleanliness and safe practice that I learned in nursing school. But I was so weak and exhausted that whenever I woke up to a nurse hooking something up to my IV, I just rolled back to sleep assuming whatever it was was good for me. Luckily, I had Luke and Leah (my MCC reps) watching out for me, and my parents were informed of every medication going into me, even from across the world (God bless technology). 

       I felt so far from home and missed my family, but I was never alone in the hospital. Either my reps, Gita or Asha (other MCC Nepali staff) or a member of my host family were always by my side. They rubbed my back, handed me puke buckets, brought me food and drink, and were always praying for me in their respective religions. Luke and Leah, bless them, took turns sleeping on the tiny bench next to my bed over night. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my community here in Nepal. I was completely helpless and vulnerable but completely taken care of. 

       So now I am back in my Nepali home regaining those small accomplishments I had made earlier. Yes, I lost all of the weight I had gained, but today I could finish all my dinner! Just three days ago my legs quaked and heart pounded trying to climb the stairs to my room, but today I walked to a coffee shop successfully! A week ago, moaning was my only language, but today Kopila, our maid, and I accomplished a conversation in Nepali about the plan for the day. 

       It is my prayer that I may see the regression of my health and mental abilities not as defeat, but as an opportunity to feel the victory of the little accomplishments once again.