Halfway through the last week I started to experience extremely painful stomach cramps, at times I had pangs so sharp I couldn’t breathe. I had to spend a lot of time in bed, and was forced to eat nothing but Sticky Rice for four consecutive days. To make my food more appealing while the people around me dined on a great variety of sumptuous foods, I molded my sticky rice into different shapes and sizes before shoving it down my throat. Unfortunately, no matter how much you play with it, sticky rice always tastes like sticky rice. I eventually got so tired of it that I gave up eating altogether, which worked out nicely because then I could concentrate entirely on my pain.
This, my friends, is what will eventually happen if you ignore an upset stomach and “cure” it with immodium for three consecutive weeks. The doctor I saw had a very scary name for it: Intestine Infection. Yikes.
Because we were no longer in the city, but out on the countryside for the second week of day camp, I could not see a doctor until the Friday of that week. We had made our return to the city on Thursday night and were scheduled to leave for Bangkok on Friday evening. After diagnosing me my doctor gave me three different kinds of medication and told me that my pain and infection would last another five days, or in other words, for the entire duration of my travel home.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course this would happen to me! Still, my time in Laos taught me the very basic lesson that we should not complain about the cards we have been dealt, we should always appreciate both the good and the bad. All experiences are, after all, experiences. If anything we learn, n’est ce pas?
Because it was my last day in Laos, and because I had been blessed with this new mentality to embrace all in life, I decided that despite my diagnosis I would put on a brave face and visit the AFESIP girls one last time. A lot of the girls are studying to be hairdressers or manicurists/pedicurists, and the beauty shop where they work and learn was not too far from my hotel. I went straight from the hospital to the beauty shop, where underwent what felt like an eternity of pampering. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated it. But to say that I enjoyed it would be a blatant lie. Truth is, I was sufferin yo.
The girls were ecstatic to see me, and when I walked in they took me by the hand and led me to a chair, where they sat around touched me and said things to me that I’m sure were nice but I could not understand. I asked them to cut my hair, but they at first refused. Instead, they fetched their teacher and told me that they did not want to mess anything up, so they would prefer to let her do the job. I was adamant. I did not go out of my way in pain to have some stranger cut my luscious, (broken), locks off. In the end they caved. A few of them crowded around my head to cut and talk and fix each other’s mistakes. I asked them to cut off an inch, but the hair that went halfway down my back is now shoulder length. Whatever. I was hurting so bad I didn’t care anyways. Having to sit still and act happy when you are suffering is one of the hardest things to do. I think they noticed something was wrong when my eyes started rolling into my head, and I started taking deep breaths and sweating buckets. Three of them actually stood around me and fanned me with magazines for the duration of the cut. When they were done I had to unstick myself from the plastic chair I was in. They gasped when they saw that my entire back was drenched in sweat. Such joy. But they were so sweet and they took me by the hand and brought me to another chair where they continued to fan me. They kept taking my hand and repeating the word “nice”, then pointing to me. I would obviously do it all again.
I was still, however, glad when it was over. I could finally go back to my hotel and lie down. Unfortunately, it was only for a few hours, after that I had to hop on the train to leave the country. Let my traveling adventure begin!
