Failure

Those of you following Peace Corps Blogs may have seen a post from fellow PSL 22er Clay a few weeks ago describing his run in with a metal pole which attempted to scalp him. He had to get stitches and from what I hear didn't even get anything to numb the pain. After my mom relayed that story to me, Ryan ran into Clay in Cotonou and although he seemed fine, his retelling of the story led Ryan and I to start vowing, "If we can make it through two years in the Peace Corps without getting stitches, I'll consider our time here a success."

Well, on that account, we've failed. So perhaps I'll need to come up with another indicator of success. Or perhaps I've learned my lesson and shouldn't temp fate with such specific taunts of what I don't want. Maybe I should just say, "If everyone that I sensibilize learns one thing from each sensibilization I do, I'll consider my time here a success." Then we can all hold hands and sing kumbiya...

Anyway, here's what transpired: On Tuesday I was supposed to go to a village almost an hour away with our friend Wassiou to meet some women who are growing vegetables to improve their diet, but also to sell and make some money. An hour before he was supposed to arrive, I was laying around in a tank top and skirt. When all of a sudden, "Ko Ko Ko!" It was raining and I knew Ryan would invite him in, so I jumped up to go to the bedroom and put a real shirt on.

That's when fate and our 6 foot high cement doorframe intervened. I smacked the top of my head on the doorframe and fell to the floor. Ryan helped me up and asked, "Are you okay?" To which I responded, "I'm fine!" and proceeded into the bedroom. At this point I touched my head and saw blood all over my hand. Then it started. Blood dripping down my face onto the floor. I walked out and said, "Actually, I'm not okay." I proceeded to bleed all over the floor and Ryan told me to sit while Wassiou just stood there with his mouth open. I told Ryan to call our Peace Corps MD and then sent Ryan out to go find us a ride. Our friend Ahmin came in to sit with me, but refused to sit. Instead, he got some cotton and gently cleaned all the blood off my face while holding a piece of gauze to my wound. The mama of our concession came in and quietly cleaned all the blood off our floor.

Before too long, there were two men I didn't know in the house and our friend who I call "Baby Mama" (since she's the mama of this super adorable baby that was gifted to me a few months back). These men were with the taxi that would take us to Parakou. We asked if there was anyone who could see us at the hospital in Kandi, but our doctor said we'd have to make the 4 hour drive down to Parakou. So I sent Ryan to gather a few things and mama reminded him to get a fular to put over my head. When I stood they saw all the blood on my cloth skirt and sent me to change. As I was walking out, Baby Mama and Ahmin saw all the blood on my hands and arms and proceeded to wash and dry me on the porch.

Two things: Although I was bleeding like a stuck pig, the cut itself didn't really hurt. I had a slight headache and was a little dazed, but that's all. Secondly, even while it was happening, I was really touched by the way that our concession family took care of me. If you think about what would happen in the States as far as blood born pathogens are concerned, I would never consider touching someone else's blood or cleaning them up without gloves, yet as they aren't available here, our family had no reserves about cleaning me up.

So then our taxi ride in a 9-place station wagon. Ryan kept saying, "Directly to the hospital in Parakou, no stops, we'll pay for all the seats". And although they understood, less then a quarter mile from our house we stopped on the side of the rode and picked up 3 passengers! The first lady was just going 7km. Then the other two were going to Bemberke, about an hour away. It was a fast ride, but not exactly directly to the hospital...and the car! Oh! How the seat's metal frame rubbed against my spine! The roads, as horrendous as they are, seemed to take on a new dimension as we hit potholes and I tried to protect my head from hitting the ceiling!

About 30 minutes from Parakou we called the doctor and told him when we'd be arriving. The taxi dropped us off at the hospital and with concrete sack in hand; we walked on the grounds and sat on a bench under a tree. The doctor arrived at the hospital in his car and was consulting with a nurse about an x-ray of a clearly broken arm in front of the Beninese version of an ER, when we climbed in to his nice clean car. He took us to his private air-conditioned office and consulted with two more nurses before kicking them out and asking me some questions.

I told him what happened, wrote my name on a paper, and then he told me to lie on the bed in his office while he went to go get some stuff. One of his medical students came in, and read the paper he had written about me on the desk, (no HIPPA privacy laws here!) then when the doctor came back he sent her for supplies. When they came back with all the necessary things to do some stitches, the doctor put on some gloves, had Ryan tie back the window curtains so we'd have enough light and then told the med student "to cut my pretty hair." Then the doctor cleaned out the wound, which was a little sore and while Ryan sat on the corner of the bed. The doctor stood next to me in his suit and Louie Vutton shirt and gave me three stitches. Then used a razor to cut away some more of my hair.

Next, he took us to a building near our old workstation to get an x-ray of my head. Now, I had an MRI in the States a little over a year ago and comparing the two machines...well let's just say I think the x-ray machine was maybe from the 80's?

After that I talked to our Peace Corps doctor in Cotonou and he said, in his dramatic life or death voice punctuated by his pause after every two words, "You have a choice. You can either stay in Parakou or come to Cotonou. " I opted for Parakou, to which he responded, "That is your choice" in his best Who-wants-to-be-a-millionaire-final-answer-voice. so the doctor dropped us off at our new workstation and said he'd come back in a few hours to give me a tetanus shot that the PC doctor had ordered. Then he gave Ryan and prescription sheet with the tetanus vaccine and some medicine he needed to buy for me.

While I sat at the workstation talking with our postmate Sarah, who just happened to be in Parakou, Ryan went all over Parakou looking for my medications. What a sweet husband, right?
It was no easy task. He went to a bunch of different pharmacies, and was eventually able to get 3/4ths of the prescriptions.

Later that night I couldn't stand the hair helmet that the blood and iodine had created on the right side of my head so Ryan, Sarah, Chadsey and I went outside and I proceeded to cut my hair off. I should also mention that the fact that my hair was pretty much shaved in the front from my forehead back a few inches giving me a new-wave-trying-to-have-a-mullet-look that I wasn't really digging. Ryan was a big help in getting some of the more gnarly parts, and I'm still rocking a diy short hairstyle with a shaved accent in the front. I'm gonna shave it all off when I have some access to clippers.

That's all for now! I'm fine. Ryan's fine. Parakou's fine. Hopefully we'll get back up to post next week and then I'll be back to Parakou for In Service Training a week after that.