A Series of Unfortunate Events

Oddly enough, “fatty week” was instantly followed by “barfy week.” Allow me to explain.

Most nights, Katrina and I eat dinner with our host family. This usually looks like about 6 or 7 people crammed around a small table, all chewing absent mindedly while engrossed in our favorite telanovela, “Mi Amor Watchimon 2.” However, last Tuesday night was a different story.

Katrina and I wandered downstairs and heated up our dinner before everyone else got home. Most nights, everyone gets home around 9 p.m. from the work day (which is crazy to me.) For some reason or another Tuesday was the day everyone was out late, so Katrina and I served up our plates and turned on “Watchimon” with just the two of us.  Dinner was some type of meat I hadn’t seen before, but in all honesty, that doesn’t phase me anymore, because I eat things I don’t recognize here at least once a week. So we came, we ate, we conquered. Done deal.

I don't have pictures from barf week--but here's me in a mall.

The following day was completely normal. Katrina and I went to class, achieved our furthest run to date, and had some pasta for lunch. As we prepared for a meeting with some church members that night, I started getting heart burn like I’ve never had it before. I took a pill, but the pain persisted. I took a nap, but woke up 45 minutes later feeling significantly worse. Then I spent the first 45 minutes of our meeting dry heaving into the toilet, trying to get myself together enough to go to the meeting. I finally resigned that I wasn’t going to be useful in the meeting in my state and threw myself into my bed.

Later that night, I woke up with a horrifying realization: I was going to vomit in approximately three seconds. Luckily, I’d planned a head and put a just-in-case trashcan next to my bed. After that pleasant affair, I deemed myself unable to attend class the next morning and told myself I’d just sleep off whatever this was. I’d be fine by morning.

I was wrong.

I was sweaty and feverish throughout the next day. I couldn’t eat—which for me, is a big deal. Worse, Katrina came back from class early. Similar to my experience, she’d felt fine all morning, then was suddenly struck with a glamorous fit of vomiting. We definitely had something bigger than a bug and since we both had similar symptoms, we began to suspect our food was the cause. 

We did some research.

Turns out our mystery meet was sheep and something about that sheep didn’t like us one bit (which is ironic since my last name is Shephard). The rest of the week consisted of turbulent stomachs and spells of feeling completely normal one minute, then feeling absolutely awful the next. Finally, Katrina broke down and bought some more of the antibiotics I took when I got sick in July. Sunday, I broke down and went to the clinic.

Now, I know people have horror stories about going to clinics in foreign countries, but I’m going to go ahead and say that when you feel awful, a dark and dirty clinic seems like heaven. They told me they wanted me to take three types of pills and give me three types of shots. Frankly, I’m still not confident what of I’ve been taking and what they pumped my full of with that giant shot, but I do know that I feel a heck of a lot better.

Now—while all of this was going on, let me add one tiny detail: Katrina was preaching last weekend and I was presiding. So between unfortunate bowel moments (you’re welcome for that detail) and massive quantities of sleep, we spent every somewhat normal feeling moment trying to prepare for church that weekend.  

Katrina was first up to bat with her sermon in Monte Sion on Saturday. Katrina wasn’t overly pleased with the outcome, but it was one of my favorite services we’ve been to since I came to Peru. We didn’t have any musical instruments, PowerPoint presentations, speakers or flashy technology; we just had a low key, quiet and peaceful service together. Perhaps my favorite part was that none of us were particularly strong singers, nor familiar with the songs for that night. Nonetheless, everyone belted out each hymn, often out of sync with each other, off pitch and while clapping off beat. And there was something fantastically humbling and comforting about it.

Sunday was my turn to preside in Filidelfia. Now let me give you this extra detail: that morning in the clinic, the nurse had a hard time injecting me with the monster giant needle they deemed necessary. Eventually she just added some pain killer to the injection, I guess to make up for how many times she was stabbing me with the needle. Let me tell you—that pain medicine was STRONG. For a good ten minutes I didn’t even know if I’d be able to stand up during church, not to mention preside. Luckily, the medicine wore off before church began.

 

For my first time presiding in Filidelfia, I thought things went well. The service progressed without any major glitches, Wilfredo delivered a wonderful sermon, and I chalked up a little more experience under my belt. When it comes to presiding, one of the major challenges for me here is picking songs. The hymnal here has some songs that we use in the English hymnal, but most of the book is new to me. I was able to find hymns I liked—but next time I’m definitely going to work harder to make sure the songs really fit the theme.  

This week is already off to a good start with some exciting happenings in the works (and spoiler alert, Wilfredo got his new car!) The weekend should be packed full—we’re preparing some big events for the upcoming International Day of Peace. I’ll keep you posted!