It's been awhile...

I’ll just go ahead and address the elephant in the room: It’s been a long time.

Why? Well, I don’t really write any more,  it’s an unfortunate result of my crazy schedule these days.  Ok, sure, I write, but not really. My days are filled with writing dozens of emails at an impressive speed, writing texts,  scribbling rushed notes on sticky notes that liter my office, writing expense reports, writing thank you notes. But not really writing anything that one would want to read, ponder, deconstruct or potentially chuckle at.  But you  know how it goes: life goes on.

But it also comes full circle! Hooray for that!  In a few short hours I’ll be leaving to Honduras, again.T hat’s pretty cool and crazy, huh? Yeah, I’m in disbelief too. It’s almost dejavu. It was just 2 years ago that I set off for Honduras the first time. I was bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Right before my birthday.  Not knowing what to expect, not knowing what my job description was. Not knowing a single soul in the country.

 My oh my how things have changed.  I’m not bright eyed and bushy tailed any more, I’m tired. I need nap. I guess you could still say I’m bushy tailed if you consider my frizzy  hair. But know I sort of know what to expect, if you can ever expect anything (which you really can’t). I know what I’m expected to do and I know several people.  And it’s almost my birthday, again. Now I’m the” experienced” one the group.  Tonight I’m leading 17 people to Valle de Angeles for an 8 day-mission trip. And I’m sooooo excited! I get the chance to return to the place I spent 13 months at, I get to see people I didn’t think I would see again, I get to take part in a mobile clinic program that I was so anxious to start but did not get the opportunity to take part of during my time there.

And all of this only 11 ½ months after I came back! It hasn’t even been a full year since I returned to the U.S. and dealt with that horrible reverse culture shock, struggled with finding a job, and moved back to California. I hope I can ease back into the Honduran lifestyle. I don’t know what this trip will bring, but I know it will be a much needed mental break (though we’ll be working like dogs). I think it will be good for my soul to refocus on my passion for global health. So stay tuned, I know I’ll have lots to post on.

Tuna fish, over and out :)

Quote for the day:

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." - Howard Thurman

how do you like your eggs?

You could say that within minutes of landing in the U.S.  I experienced reverse culture shock.  As I was in line to go through security in the Miami airport, I was surrounded by light-skinned people. I didn’t stand out anymore! I also had first-hand experience of the new infamous body-scanners.  Walking through the first-class cabin in my next flight I noticed that about 10 of the 15 first-class passengers had i-Pads and everyone had smart phones. Little did they know that I just spent the last 20 minutes trying to find a pay-phone so I could notify my father about my delayed flight (yes, they still exist). And so it started…

Even after being home for a month, there are things that still surprise me. The streets are so big and clean, I don’t see trash littered anywhere. There are no stray dogs walking by, there are no exhaust-fumes irritating my lungs and eyes.  Side-walks are plentiful yet nobody uses them. I can take my dog on a mile-walk on a residential road and not see another soul outside of their homes, much less walking. Last week my mom walked the mile home from work (by choice) and people thought she needed help. People just don’t walk here.

As part of completely normal reverse culture shock process, one starts to miss things from the host country, sometimes inexplicable things. I miss my bunk bed with a 3-inch foam mattress the sagged in the middle. Sure, it hurt my back all year and I finally had to drag it on the floor each night in order to sleep well, but I still miss it. The bed here is too big, I can roll over 3 times and still not fall off.  I miss the selection of fresh fruit. I miss NOT having an air conditioner, I’m constantly freezing here even though it’s 90 degree weather. I miss the humidity,  it’s too dry here,  a mere 3% humidity yesterday. My face has broken out in protest and my legs are ashier than a fireplace.

But the thing that never fails to shock me is the grocery store. We mostly go to a little place called Wal-Mart, perhaps you’ve heard of it?  Since Wal-Mart came into town a couple years ago, the town’s main grocery store shut-down, it couldn’t compete.  There is just sooo much stuff, it’s mind-boggling. Here the cashier doesn’t greet you by name and ask you what you’ll be making with your ingredients.  Here the cold cereal section takes up an entire aisle, up until a month ago my cereal options were limited to Corn Flakes or generic corn flakes. As I was shopping with my mom, she asked me to get some eggs, it sounded like a simple enough request, but it led to an egg-istential crisis. As I stood in front of the massive refrigerators I was dumbstruck, who knew there were so many different types of eggs? Would I prefer organic eggs? Free-range eggs?  Cage-free eggs? White eggs or brown eggs? A carton of 18 or 12? Maybe 6? Do I want medium eggs? Large eggs? Extra large eggs?  I stand paralyzed with confusion and fear. What if I pick the wrong one? Do I really want to eat a medium sized egg that comes from a poor, imprisoned chicken that was pumped full of antibiotics? If I do, am I contributing to animal cruelty??? After a couple of minutes, I finally go for my go-to method of choosing products;  I chose the cheapest carton and run away.

While I’m searching for my mother in this never ending labyrinth of aisles, displays, and shopping carts,  a voice next to my ear says “Hmm, I wonder what we should have for dinner tonight? “ I turn to see who is talking to me and am startled to see a flat-screen TV instead of a human being.  There are little screens all over the food section ready to entice you to buy a certain product or provide you with dinner ideas. I feel like I’m in the movie Back to the Future.  

 In my search to find my mother, I find a some new products that I’m unfamiliar with, one of them is a bag of dehydrated refried beans. “Just add water,” the package proudly proclaims. It also promises that it will taste just like abuela’s beans. I highly doubt that. The second item I see is cooked bacon. This one really confuses me, why is it in the raw meat section if it’s cooked? Is it really fried already? I look at the package and see that you still have to cook it for a couple of minutes. This place is stuffed full of items of convenience, everything is pre-packaged, pre-cooked, or just add-water. How lazy are people, I think to myself in shock.

At first I almost revere these inventions, look how far we’ve come! But then I bitterly remember the hours spent in my small kitchen in Honduras trying to make the simplest of meals with my two-burner mini stove and microwave oven. Rice and beans? You have to plan that a day ahead, soak the beans overnight and cook then the next day for at least an hour and a half. Pizza? Sure, make the dough, roll it out, let it rise, chop up tomatoes, garlic and onions for the sauce, cook on the stove with spices and then add it to the pizza and bake it in the microwave oven. But then I realized most people here wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how to make an entire meal without the help of a can or some sort of mix, and it kinda makes me sad.

I heard in the news a couple weeks ago that American spend only 30 minutes a day cooking meals, well below the global average of 52 minutes. With so much pre-packaged food, it’s easy to believe. But what can I say, I too love food and must admit that it is nice to have so many culinary options at my fingertips. I guess I’m just trying to find a middle-ground in a land notorious for its excess. Wish me luck...

  

Quote of the day:

Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.

-Marcel Proust

Ugly: reverse-culture shock

 They say the cross-cultural experience doesn’t end once you step foot in your home country again. It takes awhile to re-adjust. This is called reverse culture shock and it’s one of my least favorite things. Here’s a little insight into how ugly it can be:

My first couple weeks back have been filled with small disasters. After taking my car out for a spin one afternoon I decided to indulge a months-long craving for onion rings. So I headed  over to the local Sonic drive-thru.  As I was about to order, I looked into my wallet to make sure I had enough cash and to my unpleasant surprise, all I see are 7 Lempiras. I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t have any money with me, at least none that would be accepted here.  I hadn’t yet replaced my Honduran currency in my wallet for U.S. dollars. So I headed home in disappointment, onions rings will have to wait for another day. Upon coming home, I searched the car for the remote to the garage. It wasn’t there. After I parked outside the house,  I headed to the front door only to realize that I didn’t have a house-key. I don’t even have a cell phone yet, so I’m forced to drive to my mom’s office and borrow her key.

Being the proud mama that she is, she quickly and enthusiastically introduced me to all of her co-workers. They all ask “how was your trip?” and “what was Honduras like” as they pass me in the hallway, one after the other, after the other. They were all very kind , but I struggled to sum up my experience in a short sentence. I managed to be gracious to all of them except for one. This man seemed a little annoyed for some reason and I picked up on the bad vibe at once. He found out I spoke Spanish and tried to say something to me. After adulterating the Spanish language he then asks me in English,  “So will you be finding a real job now?” Being ever so polite, I respond that I am currently looking for employment. But I am deeply insulted and in my head I explode:

Excuse me?! A real job? What is that  supposed to mean? Do you think I’ve been on a vacation for the last  year or that this was some youthful act of rebellion, an avoidance of responsibilities, a sowing of my wild oats? Do you think I sat by the beach all day or sung songs by a campfire while passing around the communal peace pipe with the villagers?   Déjame decirte una cosa, I worked my tooshie off! I worked 6-days a week, with no job description and no one to tell me what I should do first. That may sound easy, but it’s not.  I had to prove that my profession actually has a place in a hospital setting and that it was worth-while. Is that enough of a real job for you?  That’s what I wanted to say at least…

I understand that people don’t really know what I did or what I do and that it’s up to me to educate them. But it’s just a little overwhelming when you first come back. There are too many things to adjust to. You’re pretty much expected to pick up right where you left off as if nothing ever happened, but you’re a little shell-shocked, trying to get used to new technologies and trends. All the while you’re still processing your experiences, missing your friends and trying to figure out a way to apply the life lessons and new habits  you’ve developed and learned.

 Eventually you reach a breaking point, the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Mine occurred a couple days ago when I was craving some fresh fruit and trying to make a smoothie.  I pulled out the blender and add all the ingredients. I plugged in the blender and turned it on. The blender just whimpered as the blades turned in slow motion. None of the buttons could make it speed up. I unplugged it, reset the outlet, re-plugged it and tried again. Still didn’t work. So I dug through the cabinets and found a food processor. I poured the lumpy ingredients in and again pressed the on button, but nothing happened. The machine wouldn’t start. By that point I was very upset. I hit the machine, as if that would intimidate it into working. It didn’t. Why won’t it work, I don’t get it!  I whined out loud.  I then noticed a small hand-held blender plugged into the wall and I immediately cheered up.  The third time’s the charm, I thought to myself. Except it wasn’t. The hand blender wouldn’t work either. 

I was desperate. I was frustrated. And that’s when it happened, my lip quivered and I started to cry.  I looked around at the now dirty and cluttered kitchen filled with appliances that I couldn’t use and I felt useless and out of my comfort zone. Inexplicably the first thought in my head was, how am I supposed to find a job if I can’t even make a stupid smoothie? It’s irrational, I know. But that’s reverse culture shock. Cooper, (the dog)  quietly came over, sat by me and licked my leg to make me feel better.  A couple hours later my dad came home from work and showed me tricks to using the food processor and the hand-held blender. It was really easy once I knew what to do. “I guess you forgot how to use this technology while you were gone,” he said.  He was right, my blender in Honduras was held together by prayers and tape...

tina, over and out.

Time changes everything except something within us which is always surprised by change.

-Thomas Hardy

Sowing the land : ready or not, here it ends.

(Tuesday morning, April 5, 2011) As I sit at the Tegucigalpa airport waiting for my delayed flight, I try to savor my last moments in Honduras. I’m still trying to process everything, the last few weeks just went by so incredibly fast and I don’t feel entirely ready to leave. But for the sake of this blog, I’ll try to organize my thoughts.   

I’ve been truly overwhelmed by everyone’s kindness.  Normally one to keep my feelings to myself, I’ve been incredibly moved, I was on more than one occasion on the verge of tears during one of many going-away parties this week.  I was honestly surprised by the outpouring of gratitude, kind words, warm smiles and numerous hugs I’ve received as this experience was coming to an end.  I felt like I should be thanking everyone else for letting me into their lives and for giving a shy, young, inexperienced graduate the opportunity to learn through trial and error.

The thought that I could have so easily missed this opportunity and gone without this life-changing experience or meeting such wonderful people is almost enough to make me cry.  And to think that this all happened in a year, one little year!  I’m going to miss Honduras, it’s culture and all my friends terribly. In retrospect, a year is nothing. It will take a while for me to realize how much I’ve changed, how Honduras affected me, my outlooks, my perceptions, my personality, my habits.  But I know I’ll be forever changed, and I’m glad for it.

In the end it’s always easy to look back with rose colored glasses, conveniently forgetting the bad, but that’s what you learn from, that’s what makes you stronger. I’m not saying that this year was perfect, it wasn’t. Yes it was difficult, but it was also wonderful.

Professionally speaking, it was a challenge to start a public health program out of nothing in the hospital. There was so much against us, decades of bad reputation and mismanagement, nothing and no one in the way of public health… I was pushed out of my comfort zone many many times.

I know I didn’t do much that was visible to others and a part of me wishes that I could see more of the fruits of my labor, it sure would look better on my resume.  I wish I could say that I started a program that targets X population and that we’re serving X number of people in the community and as a result X has happened. I can’t say that because we’re not there yet. Before the fruits of one’s labor can be seen, the land has to be prepared and the weeds taken out. And that’s what I helped do.  Sometimes those weeds are stubborn. Sometimes you stumble across tree stumps and boulders that you can’t move by yourself. You are forced to work around them and wait until something bigger and stronger than yourself can come to help. Sometimes there are droughts that you have to wait-out or insects that attack the young crop right when you finally begin to see the green little sprouts forcing their way through the hard ground. People may pass by the plot of land and think that the farmer has let his land deteriorate. But the farmer and his family know the truth, that even though you can’t see it, hard work has been put into the land, the results just aren’t visible…yet.

So I will leave with peace knowing that I was one of many that helped prepare the “soil” for the next stages of the hospitals growth. And throughout it all I was  (figuratively speaking),  sunburnt, bitten by bugs [and not to mention parasites and amoebas ;) ], kicked by the horse, and ignored by the oxen. But I also enjoyed the clean air, the sunshine, the company of others, the home-cooked meals, and the pride of doing a hard-day’s work.  It may not be time for me to see the fruits of my labor and reap the harvest, but I’m okay with that. One day it will be my turn.

I don’t know what I’m going back to, just how I didn’t know what was awaiting me in Honduras a bit over a year ago. But I’ll be patient, work hard, and have faith it will all work out, that’s all I can do. Who know’s, maybe I’ll be back soon.

P.S. I’m not done with this blog!! Stay tuned to read about the always humorous and uncomfortable process of re- adjusting to U.S. culture (reverse culture shock)

quote for the day:

"The only reason to fear the future is if you've forgotten how God has helped you in the past" 

T, over and out. 

My name is...Sweet

It’s been awhile…again. I was lacking inspiration and waiting for it to strike. Sometimes inspiration bangs, thumps and hits so loudly that it reaches in to my dreams to wake me up and pages and pages of prose ensue. Other times inspiration tip-toes ever so gently and sneaks up on you, like a quiet tap on the shoulder. This time inspiration came in the form of sweaty heads, broken English and head-lice, I guess it can’t always be poetic or life altering.

On Tuesday I went to the local SDA elementary school to weigh and measure all the kids. The school hired an English teacher this year as a first step towards making the school bilingual. The English teacher (who is also my Spanish tutor) asked if I could make the experience educational and speak to the kids in English. No problem, how hard could it be?  I thought. Since they’ve only been in class for about a month, they hadn’t yet mastered the basics of name, age and birthdate. There were plenty of funny moments throughout the morning though:

Tina : “What is your name?”
Boy: “Twenty-two September. “
Tina: “ Umm, No. What- is- your- name?”, I repeat very slowly.
Boy: Blank look
Tina: “Okay, Como te llamas?”

Tina: When is your birthday?
Girl: “Nine”
Tina: “Nine what?”
Girl: “Uhhhh, ¿Qué?

My favorite was an interaction with a first grader.
What is your name? “my eh-name iz Sweet,” she replied confidently.
“Sweet?” I ask doubtfully. I’d heard some crazy names for Honduras, like Arlington (spelt Arlinthon), Emerson and Anderson, but this one was exceptional. “Yes” she replied. I quickly looked down at my list of first-graders. I didn’t see Sweet on my page but I did find a Dulce. I dropped the English and switch back to Spanish. I asked her if she meant to say Dulce. She nodded her head eagerly. “Dulce, you don't translate your name, that doesn't change.” Thank God for that, because if we did, my name would be ‘tub’ in Spanish, I think to myself.  She seemed a bit disappointed at this news.

The morning was spent bending over and squatting down to be eye level with the kids. Since I made them take off their shoes for an accurate measurement, my nostrils were accosted by smelly feet. My hands were covered in gel and sweat from plastering down their hair for the height reading. I found boogers on my arm. They weren´t mine. Surprisingly, none of this was really gross to me, the weird part was realizing that it didn´t really bother me. The best part of it all was walking by the school the next day and having all these little hands wave frantically at me and shouting “Hola Tina!!!”

The older girls helping de-lice

The afternoon was spent re-treating kids at the local orphanage for lice. I’ve never seen nor had lice so I was actually quite excited about this project. My job was washing hair with lice-treatment which smelt like gasoline, this was then followed by vinegar rinse, and finally, conditioner. The girls were less than thrilled about having their hair cut. One girl told me that she just wanted her hair cut a little inch, not a big inch. I tried telling her that inch is an exact measurement, but she didn’t believe me.

The whole time we’re doing this, a little boy named Augustine is watching us with wide eyes and begging me to put vinegar in his hair, he thinks it’s some sort of special beauty treatment
Augustine: “Please??? I want a lot of vinegar in my hair!”
Me: “Augustine, I don’t think you have lice.”
Augustine: “Yes I do! I have lots and lots of lice!”
Me: “You really don’t want vinegar, it smells bad and it kind of stings”

Augustine: “But I neeeeeed vinegar."

My first time using clippers

Augustine playing with a piece of cut hair

Finally Belen finishes the last girl’s haircut and pulls out her hair clippers and calls Augustine over. He jumps for joy. While Belen is plugging in the clippers Augustine runs off and comes back with soaking wet hair. “What the… oh no, what did you do? I can’t use the clippers on wet hair.” Belen says.

The disappointment was evident in his big brown eyes with those never ending eyelashes. We went back the next day to tackle the boys and Augustine finally got his haircut. After the buzz cut, Belen saw a single laos hanging on for dear life on his hair. “Okay Augustine, I guess your wish is coming true today, you get to rinse your hair with vinegar” Belen said. He was ecstatic, he even did a little dance. His excitement only lasted until he felt the sting and gagged from the smell of the vinegar. After hanging out with kids all week, I couldn’t resist, I had to say “I told you that you wouldn’t like it!”

prunes, over and out

Quote of the day: The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop.- Mark Twain

No really, I'm FINE

If you’ve ever seen the movie The Italian Job you’ll understand the meaning of FINE. It stands for freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. As my time in Honduras is rapidly coming to an end and I begin to ponder what comes next, this phrase perfectly sums up how I’m doing. My parents have been asking me since November if I’ve started applying for jobs yet. My friends keep asking me where I’m going to move to. My co-workers keep asking me why I’m not staying longer in Honduras, don’t I like it here? Also, my birthday is coming up in a couple months and I’m going through a quarter life crisis. And so, I’m freaking out in my own way. Outwardly I may appear calm and quiet, but thank your lucky stars you can’t hear the incessant rambling going on my head. I think I’m going crazy. But if I say I’m going crazy, that means I’m not crazy, right? Isn’t that how it works? At least that’s what Catch-22 taught me.  But I find ways to make it go away, namely, chocolate binges. Let me tell you friends, my skin and waistline are NOT happy with me right now. 

Contributing to my stress is a CDC fellowship that I am applying for.  This application was intense, I’m sure they do it to weed out the lazy candidates. Sending all the documentation while living in a different country was tough, to say the least.  To make a long story short, I was up late finishing up my personal statement before the  12 o’clock deadline last night. I finished with 25 minutes to spare. I go to log-on to the website and submit my application and then something horrible, unthinkable happens. The webpage was down. But not the entire internet, not even the entire CDC website, just the submission page. I try a different webbrowser, I disconnect and reconnect from the internet. I restart my computer. Nothing works.  At this point, I feel defeated. I’m tempted to go home and curl up into fetal position on my horribly uncomfortable mattress.  Maybe it’s not meant to be, maybe it’s a sign, I think. But then I think about the 3 people I asked to write recommendation letters for me. They had to work for this too. One of them currently lives in Madagascar (seriously). I sent him an email asking him to be my reference, I also asked him if he could scan that letter, email it to a family member in the U.S. and have that person physically put it into the mail no later than February 1, since emailed letters are not accepted. That sounds like an outrageous demand, I know. I felt embarrassed to even ask.  But here’s a little secret, that’s the way stuff is done when you are living abroad and trying to care of obligations back home. It’s hard. It takes you at least twice as long to do things, with twice the effort, usually due to different time zones, slow internet connections, and expensive international phone call rates. But you still have to do it. I haven’t met an expat who doesn’t have their parents or relatives regularly do them favors. Thank God for family.

Anyways, back to my drama last night.  I decided that there was nothing else I could do that night. Maybe when they said the deadline was midnight, Feb. 1, they meant 12 A.M Feb. 2, not 12 A.M Feb. 1. So I reluctantly went to sleep. This morning, I connected to the internet and was relieved to see that the website was up and running and that I was still able to submit my application. So now all I can do is wait, it’s out of my hands. In the mean time, I will continue to look for other job opportunities and submit resumes.  

So the big question is, am I ready to go back to the U.S? It’s going to be hard to re-acclimate. This weekend the hospital had a visit from some VIPs. I was asked to lead the group on a morning hike. As I walked to the hospital early Saturday morning, I noticed 3 SUVs all parked next to each other in reverse for a quick getaway, they were also the same make and model and had similar license plate numbers. My first thought was  that we had drug-traffickers staying in the hospital, or at least the family of one. My suspicions increased when I saw security guards in each car. I soon learn that there are no drug-traffickers here, just security detail for the American crew. During that day I noticed two things always happens when American groups come to visit here.  First, I am filled with a sense of wonder and awe struck  by them. They come with their gadgets and smart phones, their fanny packs, trail mix, knowledge of world events, and they bring necessary equipment for the hospital. These are people that have seen things I have never seen, like iPads, Android phones and Kindles and know things I didn't know, like that California as a new governor (I know, I’ve been gone awhile)  Secondly, they eventually say or do something that perpetuates “The Gringo” stereotype and I immediately feel embarrassed. I find myself relating more to Hondurans than to the Americans. Is that normal? Am I ready to go back to living with Americans? My English has even gotten worse. It takes me much longer to find the precise word I’m looking for and my once advanced vocabulary is atrocious.  The other day I was talking to the other American volunteer at the hospital about the cups the cafeteria was using, I couldn’t think of the right word so I just said “throw-away-able cups”.  He just smiled and said “Do you mean ‘disposable cups’?”  I had thought of the word in Spanish first, desechable, and had back-translated it into the literal English phrase.   I know it won’t be easy to go back, a lot has changed in the U.S. … I’ve changed too.

This morning I received an email from a former professor whom I had also asked to write me a reference letter. I hadn’t heard back from him so I asked somebody else to do it. He apologized for not responding sooner, but he had been at the base-camp in Mount Kilimanjaro when he had received my first message and didn’t have time to respond before climbing to the peak. My mouth dropped when I read that. It was just so casual, nonchalant. No big deal, he’s just a middle aged man climbing one of the world’s tallest peaks, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  It totally made my day and inspired me. I doesn’t matter what I do in life or where I live, I just have to keep finding new challenges and setting new goals for myself. Hopefully I’ll be able to do that without eating exorbitant amounts of chocolate.  

tuna fish, over and out. 

quote for today:

"Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they're supposed to help you discover who you are" -Bernice Johnson Reagon

...and that's what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown!

It’s been an interesting holiday season. Though I’ve been away from home on Thanksgiving  several times, this was my first Christmas away. I’ve noticed a few things : #1.  no family, however lovely and nice they are, can take the place of your family on Christmas. #2. Gifts aren’t nearly as important here. They really go more with the “it’s the thought that counts” attitude, which is really refreshing when you’re kinda broke. After Christmas, I didn’t hear much of the phrase “what’d you get for Christmas”. And# 3. It’s really hard to get ready for the holiday’s when you’re working!

 Although I didn’t get the care package my mom sent me over a month ago, it was a pretty good Christmas, I can’t complain.  I got to eat some traditional food and hangout with other ex-pats and watch little kids bask in the glory of opening their Christmas presents. Here are some pics. 

Carla, Jonathan and I at the hospital Christmas pary

My "Christmas tree" and presents

Baby Jonathan, Michaela and I

Luminarias outside of my apartment

Mainly, I’ve been really touched by how nice people have been. Some of the hospital staff were worried I was going to spend Christmas by myself and they wanted to make sure I had an invitation somewhere. I got a couple of little gifts from some really unexpected people. The maintenance men finally got around to fixing some things in my apartment and yard that I’d asked to do months ago,  plus some extra things too, like clearing out some weeds and  pruning some plants and trees.  The crazy thing is, I hadn’t even reminded them to do any of it.

But I felt the most love today.  It’s been cold lately, really cold, and with no heater at work or at home, I’ve developed  a deep hacking cough. This morning, after I had a serious coughing fit where I practically coughed up my left lung, two separate people asked me if I was okay. One was the nursing /HR director.

“You’re still coughing? Have you taken anything for that cough Tina?”

“No,” I sheepishly say as I look down at the floor. “I don’t know what to take.”

“Well, you need to go see the doctor and get medicine, that cough can turn into something more serious,” she says

I nod.

“Tina,  I’m serious, go to the doctor right now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I respond meekly. I kind of felt like I was being sent to the principal’s office, but it made me smile. I may work at a hospital, but I hate going to the doctor, they can never find anything wrong with me and just tell me to drink lots of water, which I already do.

The other person who shared his concern was the maintenance director, Don Marco. “Okay here’s what you need to do. First of all, go see the doctor. Second of all, get some eucalyptus leaves and put them in boiling water, then get some Vicks Vapor Rub, you know what that is?” I nod my head.

“ Okay, then you pour that all in a bowl, put a towel over your head and you just breathe that in. That’s what I do with my girls. I’ll go chop down a branch of eucalyptus right now.”

I honestly didn’t believe he’d remember. But this afternoon as I went to my apartment, I saw a giant branch leaning against my door. A few hours later I saw him again. “Did you see the leaves I left you?” Don’t use all of it at once, just a little bit…” then he goes on to re-explain the proper methodology.

The moral of the story is this:  you don’t need THINGS to feel loved. Just someone to ask you how you’re doing and perhaps someone to weed your lawn without you having asked them to. And that's what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown :)

Beba, over and out