I feel like a more official Peace Corps volunteer - I've survived a "third-world country" disease: a dengue-like fever. They couldn't pinpoint exactly what the name of it was (they would have to send it to the CDC in Atlanta...), but it had nearly all of the symptoms of dengue and was, I assume, just as unpleasant. As long as I recovered, I didn't really care about the name. I ended up spending about two days in the hospital and then two days at a hotel in the capital, reassuring that I was nearly back to normal after having my white blood cell count drop by half. Of course, the worst of it all was the day before I was taken to the hospital when I was hit with long-lasting waves of chills/fever and a splitting headache in the forehead. I think this is just one of those things that you just assume will come with being a Peace Corps volunteer.
On a much sadder and much more difficult note, just after one day of being back after the illness, I headed back to the hospitals of San Salvador. My boyfriend's (Felipe) oldest brother (Balta) had been in the hospital for a few days and his condition was getting worse. Two months ago Balta was diagnosed with stomach cancer and when they decided to go in to try to remove the cancer they realized it had already spread to his lungs. Unable to remove all of it they decided to start with a chemo treatment and from there see what else they could get rid of. Balta hadn't had noticeable changes in health so already being in the advance stages of cancer came as quite a surprise. The chemo seemed to be going all right, but he was hospitalized when an acute headache occurred. The cancer seemed to have spread to his brain.
Felipe, two of his other brothers, and I headed to the capital to join the rest of the family who had been with Balta for a few days. During the hours of visitation we were able to individually see him twice. We all tried to give him support and animate him letting him know we were there thinking about him and knowing that he would get better. After the hospital closed the visiting hours we headed back to his house, decently content because most recently he had more color to his face and his pulse was up from 18 to 47. Shortly after we got home we got a call to return to the hospital. Balta had passed. I've never experienced watching a family receive news of a death, but man was it tough. My grandparents have all passed, but I was either young, not around, or not close to them. Balta left behind eight siblings, two parents, a wife, three daughters, and a whole heck of a lot of aunts, uncles, cousins, and nieces/nephews, friends, and co-workers. There was a heavy spirit in the room of sadness from so many who had loved him so deeply.
One of the cultural activities most Peace Corps volunteers get/choose to witness is a funeral process. This was maybe a little too close for my own preference of witnessing the process - I was a part of it without knowing what I was going to see. Since it was already late when he died we went back to his house and tried to sleep...though I doubt anyone of us got more than a half hour of sleep. In the morning we headed to a funeral parlor (this would normally happen in the house of the deceased in the rural areas), and spent more than 24 hours with the body. People came in and out throughout the day and night including family members, neighbors, friends and co-workers. Balta was a supervisor in the finance division of the police department, so about half of the city's police squads paid a visit. There were several masses, plenty of orations, and lots of singing. There were sad moments (thinking about the wife and kids moving on) and happy moments (celebrating his life), and it was that much more emotional since we were all exhausted.
After the day and night of accompanying the body before burial we headed to a church for the final mass and then to the cemetery for the burial. Since he was a police officer there were special recognitions given and many spoke about how active in the community he was and how he affected their lives. After he was buried all of the people that had come down from my community (more than just the family), headed back up. After having not slept for two days I crashed and slept for 14 hours as soon as I got home. The nine days of rosary started the day after we got back and I have been helping the family serve the required coffee and bread refreshment to all who attend. This Friday will be the last mass in San Salvador (9 days after the death there is always a mass), and Saturday it will occur in my community. It is quite the process.
I knew Balta and I was sad about losing him, but more than anything I have become a part of his family and it was so hard to see his family hurting so much. His parents consider me one of their daughters and his siblings, one of their sisters. I was touched to be included in everything and did all I could to provide support for his family. He left behind three girls - 15, 10, and 3. The family is hoping to go and visit them and have them up as much as we can.
One of the worst things to witness as well was economic disparity. Less than a week before I saw Balta in the hospital I was in the hospital bored out of my mind and feeling relatively normal. I had my own room, with a TV, a sofa and a fridge, and on-call nurse service. It was like what I would consider a typical hospital in the United States. When I went in by myself to see Balta a week ago, I asked the man at the door where I could find his room. The guy directed me to a hallway and said to keep walking, looking to the left, and I'd find him. I found him eventually, but after a little bit of shock realizing that the patients were very nearly stacked on top of each other. Here was Balta, in the last stages of cancer, one foot away from someone else with god-knows-what-kind of disease, with only enough room at the end of the bed for one person to stand. And he was a highly-ranked police officer in San Salvador?! I like to think that the quality of treatment he received wasn't compromised and that it was just his time to go, but in those conditions it is hard to be sure. The good news is that he died quite quickly and with very little pain.
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