Where everyone hugs Instead of tugs

I recently discovered a section of the online Huffington Post called IMPACT.  I read an article this morning that inspired me to think about how I came to be me, with my specific passions in life.  In the story, and in my own life, there was a catalyst, something that made us want the world to look a certain way and how we had to be a part of that change. 

In this story, Elissa Kravetz as a teen was bullied by a group of girls. She buried her scars deeply for many years, but they eventually resurfaced when she began therapy.  In the article, she talks about having “this burning desire to help kids”.  I think many of us feel the same thing.  Something happened in our lives to make us want to reach out to a group of people.  In the story, she befriends a 13 year-old girl and maintains that friendship from puberty to adulthood.

I never really thought too deeply about why I wanted to make life a little brighter for people, particularly adolescents.  I should have realized the deeper reasoning in the midst of writing several medical school statements.  After reading the story, though, I was reminded of my own rejection as a twelve-year-old, trying to fit in, and being unequivocally turned away by one person.  I remember her exact words to this day, fifteen years later, which she shared at the lunch table in front of ten other girls.  I felt completely alone in the world, until my sister and her friends adopted me and a new friend on the track team became a best friend.

In all aspects of life, we should remember what it is to feel like an outsider.  We’ve all been there.  Though no one is throwing caustic words at me now, I have felt like an outsider plenty of times as a recent traveler to Tanzania and Costa Rica.  Even in Costa Rica, where life is pura vida, it’s a struggle to make companions.  In the beginning of my Spanish classes, I was the person in the corner with the coffee cup, pretending to be mulling over her Spanish assignment.  Luckily I have made friends in this second week, and now I’m keeping my eyes peeled for myself from last week.  If she's not drinking coffee, it’s tea.  And if he's not pretending to ponder a Spanish assignment, he's feigning interest in a map of Costa Rica.  

My last note from my first little blog from Costa Rica is to remind all of us, including myself, that the things we say pack more punch than we realize.  Whenever we say something negative about religion, race, or sexuality, there is normally someone listening who could be hurt.  We think a little wise crack is harmless, but words have power.  So do actions.  

 For those of us with time and energy, there are so many organizations that run on people, and there's no shortage of need for friendship, love, understanding, and dog treats in our own communities. 

Hug O'War
from the book "Where the Sidewalk Ends" (1974)

I will not play at tug o' war.
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.

The American Bush

It’s time to write a new blog, even if it’s quickly (and poorly) written!  

I have been back from Tanzania for almost one month.  I arrived in the US on September 26^th in Greenville, SC, flew to my parents' the 27^th in Indiana, back to Greenville Oct. 14^th, San Francisco Oct. 17^th, and arrived in my new home, Seattle, on October 19^th.  Whirlwind is an accurate label!

My last month of September in Tanzania was incredible.  I traveled to the Serengeti for the first time on a rather tight budget, sleeping in a small tent with two other FAME volunteers during the short rains.  We were closely watched at night by baboons and vultures that anxiously awaited our departure so they could gnaw on any leftovers.  They were in for a treat – the pilau cooked by our guide/chef team was delicious.

The animals weren’t out to play in the Seattle-like weather but traveling in the environment with few other land cruisers in sight and the crisp, clean air at our faces was worth the trip.  The mammals we did see were beautiful, and only the leopard eluded us.

My tent-mates, the UW nursing students, left in mid-September.  Following their departure, the staff and I threw a party at FAME, with a raffle and ice cream to boot.  Many of our past volunteers had generously left clothing and other items, so much in fact that our small administrative office was becoming over-run with non-medical stuff.  Inspired by my past company’s annual Holiday raffle, we threw a giant party, with all staff members walking away with clothing, shoes, or bug spray. The staff then turned the table on me by showing their own Thank You/Asante for my time at the clinic. 

The most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen was baked and decorated by FAME’s own staff cook. In one of my favorite Tanzanian traditions, the cake was cut into tiny pieces, and as the honored guest, I got to feed the entire staff, often stuffing their mouths with giant pieces of cake and laughing hysterically in the process.  In Tanzanian weddings, typically meat is the food offered on a toothpick to the guests by the bride and groom in lieu of cake.  If Chris and I ever tie the knot, I foresee offerings of teriyaki tofu and barbeque tempeh to our guests.

Saying goodbye to the FAME staff was easier than I thought it would be, mainly because I have a gut feeling I’ll be back.  Not a matter of “if” just a matter of “when”.  I deeply believe in the commitment the non-Tanzanian folks are making in Karatu (in addition to the fantastic Tanzanians). Spending seven months at FAME was an unforgettable experience, but it wasn’t every day, every week, every month, for years to come. High-quality medical care is provided, in quite possibly, the kindest corner of the world at a personal sacrifice.  Don’t forget about them: www.FAMEAfrica.org.

Following my time in Karatu, I took a 13.5-hour bus ride to Dar es Salaam, the capital of Tanzania. I considered flying but the $20 bus ride was far more appealing to my bank account than the $200 flight. I spent one night in the capital before ferrying to Zanzibar the next day. The highlight of my trip was a one-day cruise with a group of 100 Italians, 5 Polish folks, and one American.  I was the lone American. The tour guides were very considerate of my linguistic isolation, so they chatted to me in English after the festivities were announced in Italian and Polish. I enjoyed the fresh barbequed seafood, snorkeling in the pristine Indian Ocean, and the tiny swim trunks the Italians sported while on vacation.  It was an anthropologic experience.

The least appealing experience was the ferry from Zanzibar back to the mainland, where every African was “in disposed” as my mother would say.  Or upchucking to high heaven as I might say. Most Americans on the ferry had iron stomachs but it only took 30 minutes of sloshing waves to send me tossing cookies like the rest of them.

A 36-hour flight home with 3 connections, a missing camera, and an eight-hour layover in Qatar (apparently pronounced Cutter) followed my relaxing trip in Zanzibar (minus the ferry ride).  By the time I arrived in Greenville, South Carolina, my ankles were reminiscent of an 80 year old woman who had spent the last 60 years of her life eating bacon cheeseburgers and drinking strawberry milkshakes.  My feet, ankles, and legs were so swollen; it was a little worrisome.  I’m no doctor but I’m guessing the combination of a 2^nd degree sunburn, salty airport food, and 35-hours of rear-in-chair time may have caused the hypertensive appearance.

I headed home to Frankfort, Indiana (Go Hotdogs!) to visit my family for the longest time since I was 18 years old.  We had a really good time (shouldn’t say surprisingly, but Surprisingly!). My parents let me catch up on my sleep and six years of Criminal Minds in the almost three weeks I visited.  I spent time with my grandmother, watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy with her a few nights each week.  I kicked her butt on the pop culture jeopardy night. I knew all the deets on K-fed and Brittany.

I saw cute babies, big baby bellies, and good friends while in Frankfort. In Greenville, I spent more quality time with family before heading to San Francisco to see the wonderful people I spent over two years working with. Everyone looked healthy and happy.  I ate good food and saw the friends I loved that made the city my home.

FINALLY, I arrived in Seattle, Washington. Seeing Chris, the boyfriend I ditched for Africa, was better than I could have imagined.  Particularly since my first meal with him was a little something called Poutine (OMG).  I could eat it one hundred times over despite the impact it would have on my heart.  Now I know how people get fat. They eat French fries, covered with cheese curds and beef gravy.  And then they die. Happy?  Yes, probably happy.

My latest adventure?  I leave tomorrow for Leavenworth, Washington (aka Bavaria) for a 4-week Wilderness EMT class.  I’m slightly freaked out since I don’t yet know how to roll a sleeping bag (for that, I blame my father)… but Chris promises to teach me in the morning.  I’m going to try not to let on that Chris and I thought we could climb Mt. Rainier one day in May in our running shoes… or that I bought fancy equipment for Kilimanjaro but never actually used it.  My hiking books are un-scuffed 9 months after purchase, but I think it's time to put my weather-proofing skills to the test. Leavenworth, here I come.

I hope to have more exciting stories after a longer entry in the “American bush”, but in case I don't, goodbyeofficechair!

Directed by Eli Roth

I’ve been receiving threats from my father that I better write another blog or ELSE, so here we go.

 -----

Mobile was last week and for the first time, I started feeling a bit of cabin fever.  The walls of Africa started closing and I craved the motherland of Seattle, really for the first time since I’ve been here.  Home has always been in the back of my mind but the experience has always outweighed the desire to return… until last week when the chapatti was a hair too oily, the rooster just a little too annoying, and the five-hour bus ride, a smidgen too bumpy.

During the July mobile clinic, my leg was elevated at a 30-degree angle and I was eating popcorn for dinner.  This time, I worked in the lab, carefully handling the poop and pee, recording data, and watching the almost 300 patients move throughout the carefully orchestrated clinic. There were many cute babies, although only a few I seriously considered stealing.  

Over the weekend, I went to Tarangire National Park and for five hours, sat in a safari car eating peanut butter sandwiches, chocolate-covered cherries, and watching animals.  The cutest part was watching a baby baboon jump on its mothers back.  The scariest?  When a young elephant decided to inspect the safari car and send its ears flapping. The mother was close behind, with her ears a-flapping.  Our experienced (not very talkative) safari guide put the keys in the ignition and drove us to safety once the elephant decided not to charge us.

A Spanish volunteer with a penchant for bad coffee asked our driver if he could get us kahawa in the middle of the savannah.  Seemed like a pretty crazy request but after about an hour, we pulled into a fancy tented campsite and we were served Africafe by a man wearing Jack Daniels boxers and nothing on top.  We would have had to pay good money for this kind of service in the States, one-dollar bills and all.   

After the safari, the Spanish volunteer and I headed for the big city of Arusha to do some shopping.  We got to our hotel pretty tired and then I got my first migraine headache.  The lights, sounds of the city, and damning pain on my right hemisphere made me want to jump off a bridge.  For those who have chronic migraines, I seriously feel for you.  After a nap and three hours of a throbbing brain, I started feeling better.  My new rafiki and I decided to get some late-night Chinese, just like in America.  Now I felt like home.  The only thing missing were the San Francisco hipsters with their tight jeans and Chris, with his free t-shirts.

The next day, we walked around the big city of Arusha and discovered the Maasai market, which was a gold mine for African crap.  Concha, my partner in crime, spent the rest of her residency savings on purses, bowls, and painted art.  I can’t tell what I bought since my family members may find it wrapped in newspaper in the next month.

I received my first rejection from medical schools this week – Boston University.  They did a good job letting me down gently, writing that 100 applicants vie for each spot.  I know many more rejections will come but as long as there’s at least one acceptance, I won’t feel too badly.

Finally my fundraising is going well for the Ride for World Health, thanks to the generosity of my awesome friends and family.  If you haven’t received an acknowledgement from me, it’s only because I don’t know who has given yet, except for my Grandpa and my parents.  THANKS FAMILY.  This is a quote from the treasurer for the event:

“Right now you and XXXXX are in a race to raise all the money you need before anybody else gets anything in.”

Thanks for being awesome.  I owe you, so give me a call or email when you decide to do Team in Training, or any other good cause that needs my credit card number.  Just give me, like five years, so I can have an income.

Okay, that’s all for this month.  I promise to make next month’s good.  Maybe some deeper observations...

XO,

Jess

The Runner's High

I have been in the habit of writing a blog entry each month after Mobile Clinic week.  I tried writing every Sunday but I’m a bit out of writing practice, so it was hard to get into the weekly routine.  I’m no Carrie Bradshaw!  So here’s my monthly blog – this time, during Mobile Clinic week.

Almost two weeks ago, I found myself without transportation at my bungalow in Karatu town.  Every day, I had been running with our young, strapping volunteers, so I didn’t want to miss a run as I was on my way to turning my Easter candy into muscle.  Without a car, I decided I would run to meet the volunteers.  I live in town and they live in the volunteer houses at FAME, which are about 2 miles from my home.  Feeling ambitious, I kept to our scheduled run at 6:30 am and was required to leave the house at 6:00 am, thirty minutes before sunrise.  I put on a headlamp and left my cellphone on the table before I walked out the door. 

The road I live off is pretty flat and not at all treacherous like so many of the roads in town.  The only problem is the deep divots between the road and the shoulder.  When a car passes, you basically have to jump a foot into the crevice off the side of the road.  Once in the hole, you wait for the vehicle to pass and return, cautiously, to the road.

That Thursday morning, a picky picky (motorcycle taxi) zoomed by me after I was a little more than an eighth of a mile from home, forcing me into a divot.  I successfully jumped off the road to avoid the motorcycle.  After waiting for the bike to pass and the cloud of dust to dissipate, I jumped back up to the road, right foot first.  Instead of landing solidly on my right foot, it twisted and what followed was a “popping” sound.  I had done some serious ligament damage and couldn’t put any weight on my right foot.

From where I was positioned, I attempted to use my headlamp as a means of catching someone’s attention since I didn’t have my cell phone.  Unfortunately, my personal SOS efforts failed. I forced myself to hop on one foot over to other side of the road where there was a bigger shoulder.  Eventually I caught the attention of some people walking on the road and they came to my assistance.

There were some greetings and “pole sana”s exchanged.  My new friends examined my foot and one man decided to take my shoe off, which was extremely painful.  In broken Swahili, I asked him to call a friend who could give me a ride.  About thirty minutes after he called and an hour after my injury, the new picky picky arrived. Since I couldn’t stand on my own, my helpers lifted me into the air over the picky picky and placed me on the back seat of the motorcycle.  They instructed the driver to take me home and as we were on our way, I told the driver “pole pole”, thinking the slow speed would make the ride less painful.  Instead, it was excruciating.

After making it home and turning on an episode of Friends to help time pass, I waited for my coworker Caroline and one of our physicians to return from a meeting.  The two of them took me to a local hospital with the only xray in town, which looked pre-World War II.  Luckily the machine was functioning and there was electricity in town at the time, so the xray technician produced a sufficient picture.  No bones were broken or dislocated.

When I returned to FAME for treatment, I was given a healthy dose of dawa (medicine) that put me to sleep, and two of our doctors casted my leg.  Normally in the US, doctors would put you in a fancy aircast, but those $500 pieces of equipment are in short supply in rural Tanzania.  After waking up five hours later from my delicious dose of drugs, I was given a pair of crutches and sent home.  I took one day off work but returned to work on Saturday.

Saturday night, after having a nice dinner with our volunteers and wageni staff, I watched a few episodes of Friends and went to sleep around 10 pm.  Instead of getting my normal eight or nine hours of sleep, I woke up at 3 a.m. to the worst diarrhea and vomiting attack I have ever experienced.  It’s a good thing the toilet and the sink were close together, because at one point, I needed the sink for vomiting because the toilet was occupied.  As the kids today say, TMI (too much information).

At around 11:30 a.m., the vomiting subsided.  My lovely coworker brought me two Sprites and so for the rest of the day, I sipped on the Sprites and prayed to the gastrointestinal gods.  For the next few days, I ate very little and watched the pounds melt away.  I have to say, I was pretty excited about that part.  I lost more weight in eight hours of puking than three weeks of running. 

During the stomach bug, I’d given up on using crutches and was just walking on my cast, which was much easier than hopping from my bed up to the toilet.  Housing in Tanzania has an incredible amount of unnecessary stairs.  I could feel my ankle swelling inside the cast from using it so much during my upchuck fest.  At midnight on Wednesday, I couldn’t bare the swelling any longer, so using the tiny little scissors on my Leatherman tool (thank you Chris), I cut the cast from my leg.  It took a long time, but the feeling of air on my purple ankle was worth it.  The next morning, I took a better look at my ankle and it was swollen beyond body-part recognition and I had internal bleeding (bruising) all over the place.

After two days of wearing an ace bandage, one of our volunteers, Erica, an awesome nursing student from Seattle, found a small air cast in the boxes of donations we received. It was little and wimpy looking, not the $500 variety, but maybe the $30 variety, but so far it has done the trick.  My ankle is looking remarkably more like an ankle, but still not ready for touching down on Earth.  I tried walking on it after the 12^th day of injury, and not ten minutes later, it was purple and hypertensive again.  

This week, instead of being on mobile clinic, you can find me on the couch of the volunteer bungalows with one leg elevated in the air cast.  Although I miss being on mobile, the good part of the deal is that I get to live in the volunteer house since it’s a stone’s throw from work, eat the volunteer food (Don’t tell Dave but I stole a handful of almonds), and my cat has another kitty to spend time with. 

The volunteers found a cat that is pretty evil by most standards and basically harasses my cat, who is much larger and nicer.  I have started to like my cat much more because of this cat, although she did pee on Caroline’s lap on the car ride over to the volunteer house.  I hope it’s a forgivable offense because cat pee is pretty disgusting.  I know it took me a while to forgive Maud’s cat when it urinated all over my bedroom.  Bed, floor, everywhere.

That brings me up to now.

The latest news is that I’ve decided to come home four months earlier than planned and will find myself in Seattle in October now instead of February.  I never considered leaving until the dreaded ankle twist when I had plenty of time laid up to think about my options… 

I love being here in Tanzania, working with the people I do, and enjoying a much calmer lifestyle.  San Francisco was go-go-go all the time.  Last night I almost read an entire novel.  Living here, I don’t constantly think about what I have to do next like I did in San Francisco.  I’ve learned a lot about slowing down, pole pole.  Tanzania is the poor person’s anti-anxiety medication. Or the rich person’s since it costs about $2,000 to get here.

I have decided to take a Wilderness EMT class in Washington state, two hours from Seattle.  The plan is to find a job and get some serious patient contact before medical school.  As rewarding as shadowing is, I kind of want to touch the patients. Good touches, though.

Also, I have signed up for a 3,700-mile bike ride to raise money for world health, from San Diego, CA to Washington, DC.  As part of the ride, I have agreed to raise $2,700 to donate money to three incredibly worthwhile organizations – the organizations are http://www.louieskids.org/ which fights childhood obesity, http://mananutrition.org/ which produces a product to treat severe acute malnutrition, or a  “ready to use therapeutic food", and lastly, http://www.oursoil.org/ which focuses on environmental health in Haiti.

Please consider donating to this wonderful event by checking out the website – http://www.rideforworldhealth.org/theride where I will soon have my own page you can donate to.  The goal is to raise $2,700 for the event, with $1,000 raised by December 31, 2011.  If I make the fundraising goal of $2,700, I am personally pledging $500, which will cover the expense of my participation in the ride.  That way, you’ll know that your donations went to the three great organizations above, and not to my Luna bars.  Thanks for your support and see you in October. 

Love, me. 

Baby Love

On Mobile Clinic this past week, a young Tanzanian woman walked by me with her baby strapped to her back in a carrier.  I was ooing and ahhhing over her baby and in response to my noises; she removed her child from her crisp leather carrier and handed her over to me.  Typically I dread this moment, when I have to pretend to be excited to hold someone’s pooping, stinking infant.  But the moment came and instead of hesitantly accepting this unwanted gift, I cradled the baby in my arms and never wanted to let her go.  Her name was Margaret and I didn’t care if she pooped, peed, or vomited all over me.  I was in love.

This baby was a little gooey, probably had diarrhea and some kind of intestinal worm, but I let her pull my hair, put her hands all over my face, and spit up on my clothes.  Twenty-seven and a half years after my own birth, I finally started daydreaming of a family.  Normally the daydreams involved traveling to faraway places, but for once in my life, I dreamed of a home filled with babies.

I pictured a giant purple house with a wrap-around porch, dogs running around, a garden of herbs and vegetables and a house filled with beautiful little African children.  Unfortunately, I’m guessing I would make some very cream-colored babies, so I dreamed of adoption, foster children, and a life full of love and family.

I always thought I would end up treating adults, but I’m pretty sure I like the little guys more.

Bed bugs and beer pong

I traveled to Seattle on May 9^th to take the MCAT.  My journey to the Kilimanjaro airport from Karatu was roughly three hours long and I shared a vehicle with a woman who had a terrible case of car sickness, throwing up first in her hand, then in her sweater, and finally in a plastic bag we picked up for her.  I thought this might be good luck, that the car trip might be uncomfortable, but the air travel would be a piece of cake.  That’s how karma works.

I waited at the airport for roughly two hours before the flight, reading my Kindle instead of studying.  I had stayed up the night before finishing the third book of the Hunger Games also instead of studying.  I had developed a love/hate relationship with the author and was deeply in love with Peeta.  In my head, he was way cuter than Harry Potter.

I love flying outside of the US because non-American airlines feed you over and over and over again.  Even if it’s a roll covered in disgusting mayonnaise and weird looking ham, I’m thrilled by the gift from the flight attendant.  After receiving my hoagie roll slathered in the egg/oil mixture, I was then asked my beverage preference.  I replied water, but the flight attendant misheard me and delivered wine, so I started my flight with a nice buzz. Asante sana, madam flight attendant.  

My flight made it to Mombasa, Kenya safe and sound, my first stop of many.  We then successfully made it to Ethiopia; however, I was met with unfortunate news.  My flight had been cancelled and I was stuck in a hotel in Ethiopia for 24 hours.  I shed a few tears, since I was anxious to see Chris, but once I saw the hotel and ate a delicious Ethiopian dinner, I relaxed in bed and slept pleasantly.  Throughout the night, I thought I felt something biting me, but I ignored the sensation and went back to sleep.  The next morning, I studied for a bit, and then after finding an English-speaking Ethiopia-born American, began to explore Addis Ababa for the day.  We went to a restaurant that served layered fruit drinks that were recommended by an expat in Tanzania, and followed up with a macchiato on a side street. 

I took a shuttle from the hotel to the airport at 7:00 pm for my 10:00 pm flight, which turned out to be a good idea since I spent the next hour and forty-five minutes in some kind of line.   I met two nice Africans on the plane.  One was an Ethiopian nurse flying to Seattle who’d won a “lottery ticket” to come to the US and go to school.  He had married a fellow Ethiopian-American and had two children who were still just babies.  The fellow behind me was from Burundi, living in Canada and working as an engineer.  He had left during the terrible genocide that occurred in the 90s.  I recommended Strength in What Remains to him, which is the story of a Burundian doctor who escapes genocide and comes to America to start a new life.

Six or seven hours into the flight, I broke out into what I thought were hives. The nurse next to me told me it must be an allergic reaction and it’s very common when traveling internationally.  By the time I landed in Washington D.C, my fourth layover, I was covered with red, ITCHY pimple-like bumps.  I was itching like mad but just wanted to get on my next flight.  One step closer to home.

Shortly after landing, I discovered Ethiopian airlines had forgotten to rebook my domestic flight from Washington D.C. to Seattle, Washington and I spent the next three hours itching my arms, arguing with the airline, and commiserating with a Canadian.  I finally was put on standby for the 12:00pm flight I was supposed to be on originally, and secured a ticket on the 5:00 pm flight. 

Ten minutes before the noon flight finished boarding, I was granted a seat. At this point, my family and Chris thought I had been abducted, murdered, and stuffed in a carry-on.  The trouble with not owning a cell phone...  

Finally, I made it to Seattle 54 hours after my initial departure, and to my surprise, Chris was waiting for me.  It was the first time we had been apart for longer than a few weeks, so I didn’t know exactly know what to expect.  What if he saw the 9 extra pounds of Easter candy around my waist and decided to leave me at the airport?  Luckily that didn’t happen and he took me to his new car and gave me a box of truffles.  Chris had come a long way in a matter of weeks… permit, to first license, to first car!  I knew it wouldn’t take much but he was already a better driver than me.  I knew I would never have to parallel park again, and that made me extremely happy.

We arrived to his apartment and the itching began to worsen and I was wildly scratching my arms, back, and stomach.  Confused by the strange bumps that clearly didn’t look like hives after I performed several internet searches, I began sending pictures of my itchy pumps to a couple that had volunteered with us and also to my boss since I had completely inadequate health insurance for the United States.

There was a debate over mites or bed bug bites, but in the end, it was determined that I was covered in 250 bed bug bites.  Imagine these nasty brown anthropods, crawling all over you at night, biting you, sucking your blood, then returning to their hiding spot in the mattress.  I looked and felt disgusting.  I was jetlagged, itchy, and I had a giant test to prepare for.

Chris spent the next few days covering me with hydrocortisone and peptobismol pink calamine lotion.  It was a romantic way to spend my return trip to the states. I also had the comforts of truffles and American food to keep me satiated, possibly adding another pound to the tire I was now sporting on my mid-section.  (Please see earlier blog post about losing 20 lbs in Africa and laugh accordingly.)

The days came and went.  I studied when Chris was at work, and at night we dined on sushi, pizza, and the night before my test, Chris made tacos.  I woke up at 5:00 am the morning before the MCAT, ate a protein-filled breakfast, and packed my lunch for the day:  Peanut M&Ms, Coke, a Peppermint Luna Bar, and a pound of almonds.  I made it through the test, unsure of myself in some parts, but just happy that I made it though.  Chris picked me up in his sleek black car, which boasted excellent gas mileage, just after lunch.  Instead of going to bed or filling the next few hours with episode after episode of Glee Season 2 like I had planned, I sucked it up and started in on my medical school application. 

That night, we took a trip into the city and ate at a posh sushi restaurant called Japonessa.  Chris and I are incredibly trendy people so we totally fit in with the hip crowd and the club music in the background.  I ordered octopus seaweed salad for some strange reason, and ate around the pink little octopuses.  My two-year stint as a vegetarian in San Francisco had turned me soft.  We walked around the city, imagining our lives when I finally moved there permanently, or at least for a few months in 2012 before I found out what medical school had accepted me.

The next day was really fun.  We went into the city, ate Beecher’s mac and cheese, and went to a Sounders soccer game.  We decked out in green Sounders gear and enjoyed the commradery between the fans and the sound of whale noises throughout the game, which we actually kind of weird.  After the winning goal was scored by the Sounders in the 92^nd minute of the game, Chris and I went to Poppy in downtown Seattle for dinner.  We ate a ridiculously delicious meal with 10 different mini “entrees” or thalis (as I think they’re called).  The chef of Poppy was on Top Chef Masters just last year and had only lost because of his lousy partner. 

On Sunday, Chris and I decided to drive to Mt. Rainier for a hike.  We didn’t do any research.  Chris was wearing jeans and I was wearing black stretch pants.  We didn’t even bring gloves.  We wound around the beautiful mountain, surprised that the degrees kept falling.  We started out at 60 degrees in Seattle and by the time we got to 4,000 feet at the visitor center, there was nine feet of snow on the ground and people were snow-shoeing all around us.  The trip entailed taking pictures and eating beef jerky but it was beautiful.  We decided we’d try again in August.

Our final day of togetherness was spent running errands.  I had put them off until the very last day, but at least we got to go to Costco, Target, and the post office together.  Our last meal was asparagus pizza, which makes your urine smell funny.  Try it.  We headed to the airport together and Chris hung out at security.  We waved goodbye and I was crying like I’d just watched My Girl or Schindler’s List. I bucked up and began my journey home.  With the exception of my driver forgetting to pick me up in Tanzania, it was much more successful than the US-bound portion of the trip.

As much as I love Chris and my family and would trade my left pinkie to spend more time with them, I know that for right now, my life and heart is in Tanzania.  There’s so much more for me to do here, and it took me a few days after being back in TZ to realize how incredibly lucky I am to have this experience and spend time with the amazing Tanzanian people I work with.  The Americans and the German are pretty great, too.

So now that I’m back, I have to give a “shout out” Facebook, Twitter style to the wonderful people who donated items for the clinic.  Ali Crawford Mullen, despite having a bun in the oven and so many other things that you could be spending money on, thanks for sending the donations.  The same goes for Jenna Blank, working full-time and in an MBA program.   Bill Clossin, with your big heart, donated money to FAME, and Ms. Kat Ticci sent me a check, which I gladly spent on KY Jelly and children’s vitamins.  Aunt Cynthia sent me a box of her kids’ used shoes that looked brand new by most standards.  I’ve already handed out several pairs to people working at the clinic who know just the child that the shoes will fit.  What a wonderful gift.  Chris helped out by buying truffles for the staff.  I don’t think it’s a gift that will necessarily save any lives but what a sweet gesture from my boyfriend back in America. Everybody loves chocolate.

I promise I also contributed with my own purchases for the clinic, as well as ping pong balls and red Solo cups for leisure activities.  Try and guess what those are for… now we’re just trying to find a door we can unhinge.

Now that I’m back, I’m working on my medical school application, trying to learn Swahili, and starting to jump rope.  I made my first attempt this morning doing this crazy pilates meets cardio workout from the latest fitness magazine at the airport.  I made in through 25 minutes today.  I have a feeling I won’t be able to sit up in bed tomorrow, so I’m going to take another crack at it Wednesday morning.  Chris and I have a fitness competition and I am planning to win.  Eat my shorts, Emond. 

Getting Fat in Africa

Dear Friends and Family,

This will be my last note before I head to the states on my 32-hour flight.  I stop in Ethiopia, Rome, Washington DC, and finally find myself in Seattle!  I'll finally post pictures, drink a latte, and go for a run.

Speaking of needing a run, I literally just ate two deep-fried chapatis.  My goal for my next nine months in Africa, besides immersing myself in the culture, learning swahili, and working on public health projects, is to start to exercise.  With the MCAT no longer an excuse, this girl needs to get off her bum!  Getting fat in Africa was not part of the plan.  I did read that when men go to Africa, they lose weight.  When women go, they gain weight.  Everything is rich in carbs, so I'm eating like I'm in college and my metabolism is not as efficient as it was when I was 18.  Almost ten years later, I finally see the immediate consequences of chapati, beans, and rice for dinner.  Just take a look at my ass.

So, besides talking about my giant derriere, I am also making one last request for donations, before I find myself in Walmart with a grocery cart full of lubricant.  For vaginal exams, we are in need of KY Jelly, for our medical mobile clinic and a variety of uses, we need duct tape.  It's amazing what you can do with it - have you seen those duct tape prom dresses?  Maybe if we get enough donations, we can just start wearing it... and don't get me started on the pens.  We could also use powdered gatorade.  These are the few things I'm requesting help with, so if you can send it to the address below, I will cart it back to the bush, and you will become part of our FAME family, which is a pretty fantastic family to be a part of.  Once a member, you'll be hooked for life.  Frank and Susan, the directors of FAME, are basically the most wonderful people I've ever met.

In other news, Chris just got a job at Microsoft so I'll be staying in his sweet corporate pad for the next two weeks, while I study for the MCAT and do a little apartment hunting with the honey on the side.  By the way, Chris and I do not use pet names, actually barely use our first names.  We have a "hey-you" kind of relationship.

The address is here...

Jessica Coulter
538 CENTRAL WAY APT B206Kirkland, WA 98033 

...and HEY-YOU,

See you in 4 days!

XOXO,
Jessica