Where do I even begin? I was planning to go to an internet cafe on Sunday to update you all on my new host family, which I will do in this post, but I ended up in the hospital. On Sunday morning at about 3 am I started vomiting and I didn't stop vomiting until Sunday night around 10 pm. Talk about a rough day. Anything I tried to drink or eat came right back up. So, my supervisor drove me to the emergency room on Sunday night where a PC doctor was waiting for me. I was quickly taken in, they started me on an IV of liquids to re-hydrate me. And the proceeded to take blood, and x-rays to figure out what was wrong with me. I was given a room and stayed the night here. It has A/C which is great, as well as free WiFi. So, it's not all bad. I haven't thrown up since Sunday night but I also haven't eaten anything since Saturday night. This morning the gastroenronologist (? stomach doctor) wants some more blood samples as well as an ultrasound of my stomach. Then I will try to eat something and they will hopefully let me go back to Peralvillo to stay with my host family again.
Which brings me to the primary reason I was going to write this post. Currently, I am living in a campo town called Peralvillo. We moved there a week ago today. There are 14 other business volunteers here, and we will be studying business principles for the next four weeks. Peralvillo's main export is organic cacao, so we are learning lots about the cacao industry here--very interesting so far.
I live with a Dona named Cecilia. This is the first time she has ever had an American staying in her home. Her husband currently is in New York working. She has a daughter, Rudy, and a granddaughter who live next door to us, so they are always around. As is the entire neighborhood. The DR has a collectivist society, and I have seen this first hand a lot more here. We have people in our home all day long, eating or drinking coffee, or coming to see the new American--that's me!
This living situation has taken some getting used to. For example a few days ago, I had to tell my host mother that I have an name and it's Lauren. She keeps telling everyone that she introduces me to as her white, american, blonde, skinny, daughter. All of those descriptors, but no name. So one afternoon I kindly pulled her aside and explained that my name was Lauren, and since all of the descriptors she was using were about my physical features, she didn't need to continue to use them. So there's that. From that point on she tells everyone my name. I know this is just another cultural change for me, but at the same time, living with her is a challenge enough.
My host mom likes to remind me how skinny I am all the time. She makes it seem like a bad thing. She always notes after my meals that I don't eat enough (I'm not sure what kind of person could actually eat an entire box of rice for a meal). And when I became ill she insisted that the reason I was sick was because I was not fat. She explained if I had eaten more, I wouldn't be sick--good logic, right? And to make me feel even better she kept offering me every type of drink and food possible, insisting that I would get better. I know she means well, it's just difficult to take in when I'm leaning over a toilet multiple times an hour. So coming to the hospital was a relief of sorts.
These next four weeks I have left are going to be a challenge. I know my host mother is meaning the best, the cultural differences are just hard to deal with sometimes. Well it's time to go get my ultrasound. Here's to hoping I can keep something in my stomach today.
The skinny, sick, American,
LJ
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