Adventures with the Mustashfa (hospital)

Marhabba! (hello)

It’s a beautiful afternoon in Ramallah; about 64 degrees outside and more like 60 degrees inside. I’m trying to get my beloved space heater to work, but with the TV and cable box running, I think I may have overloaded our outlet. We recently acquired a TV and cable box from the family who used to live upstairs. Bethany and I are now proud owners of approximately 1000 channels with countless English=speaking movie channels. It certainly is nice to have, despite the fact that the movies played are on a “world’s worst movie” list somewhere.

This week has been difficult for one unfortunate reason. Though it’s a bit embarrassing, I think it serves as a good story to share about the realities of living here. I acquired the inevitable – travelers diarrhea.

We’ve been hosting a group of ELCA bishops and their wives this week as they explore the Holy Land. Bethany and I accompanied them on Tuesday and Wednesday which included a visit to Yad Vashem (the holocaust museum in Jerusalem), presentations by Israel’s Minister of Interior and Minister of Tourism among other high level government officials, and a trip to our school in Ramallah. After the bishop’s visit to our school, I decided to take a nap and woke up with excruciating pain in my lower abdomen. The pain is what I imagine contractions during child birth might feel like. After three or four hours of intense abdominal pain and vomiting, I decided it was time to visit the mustashfa (hospital).

This time, Bethany and I decided to brave the private hospital upon recommendation from a church member. One of my work-out friends rushed me to the hospital as if I was on the brink of death. After blood and urine tests, I was diagnosed with a UTI, a diagnosis I felt wasn’t quite right. But irregardless of my broken Arabic and my doctor’s broken English, I was out the door with a prescription in hand. I filled the prescription with hope that it would lessen the pain and vomiting. Unfortunately, taking the medication induced something worse: diarrhea and even more intense stomach pain. Considering that one of the boxes of medication had a slinky on it, I should have been concerned.

I was still trying to remain optimistic, but at about midnight (4 hours after I had gotten back from the hospital the first time) I decided it was time to make another journey to the mustashfa. This time another work-out friend of mine, who speaks English well, came with to help me communicate more clearly what was wrong. “Back so soon?” my doctor greeted me. I again explained my symptoms and how I thought my previous diagnosis was incorrect. This time, I was visited by the surgeon, probably because he spoke the best English, and they put me on an IV and another kind of medication. I left the hospital around 3 am full of liquids and drugs.

Thursday, I still was experiencing considerable stomach pain and diarrhea, but it was definitely an improvement from Wednesday. I spent most of the day napping, but was frequently interrupted by phone calls and visits from concerned parties. The English teacher and secretary from school came over to visit, along with several members from the church council, and other community members. Even the 9^th graders wanted to stop by; fortunately, their teacher encouraged them not to. With them they brought advice about what kind of foods to eat and most brought food with them. I am now on a strict regime of potatoes and bananas and staying away from chocolate (doctor’s orders) and lentils. We also spent time hypothesizing how I contracted this Middle Eastern mystery disease; some say the wind, some say the cold weather, I say food poisoning; but whatever, all ideas are welcome.

I certainly felt appreciated by the amount of concern that was shown over my wellbeing. On the flip side, I think the entire city of Ramallah now knows that I have/had diarrhea as I’ve had more conversations concerning my bowels than I ever care to have again.

Today, I am feeling almost 100%. The diarrhea is gone but I still have a bit of stomach pain here and there. Tomorrow, one of the bishops will be preaching at our church and we’ll go to Beit Jala to have a closing meal/service with them before they head to the Galilee and then home.

Hopefully, they’ll let me have shuklaa (chocolate) soon…