One of the many self-discoveries I’ve made during the time
in the Peace Corps is that I have small, irrational fears that are deeply
buried in my psyche. For instance, I have an irrational fear of skydiving. I
have always sworn to kingdom come that I would never, ever skydive because a)
I’m mildly petrified of heights and b) I don’t like the idea of trusting my
life to another person or object. Since heights make me extremely
uncomfortable, I tell myself that there is no way I could enjoy skydiving, even
though I’ve never tried it. Because I don’t want to trust myself to others, I
speculate on insanely improbable things-that-could-go-wrong: the faulty
parachute that doesn’t open, the string that breaks and prevents you from
launching said faulty parachute, the drunk guide who condemns me to plunge to
my death due to his inebriated judgment, and so on and so forth. As anyone can
tell you, though, skydiving is a perfectly safe, exhilarating experience
99.99999% of the time that usually results in an unforgettable adventure. And
yet, I rationalize my illogical and ridiculous trepidations and convert them
into seemingly viable excuses, thus barring me from ever giving my small fears,
such as skydiving, a chance to be resolved. I have many such tiny fears, all of
which would be so very easy to ignore. In all honesty, I know I could live a
perfectly happy and fulfilled life if I just simply let them be. However, by
doing so I would be inviting missed opportunities and experiences, both the
good and the bad, to enter my life. Perhaps I’d enjoy 99.9% of what life has to
offer me, but there would always be that 0.1% that I’d miss. And, maybe that
0.1% would make all the difference. Do I really want to risk that possibility?
As a result, I’ve vowed that whenever I discover one of my irrational fears, no
matter how small and insignificant it may seem, I have to root it out. When I
hear myself thinking, “Oh no, there’s no way I could do that because…” I have
to immediately stop and say, “Why yes, I’d love to.” However, as I learned this
past month, sometimes saying that “yes” can have rather unfortunate and, in
this case, hilarious consequences.
*********
“Well, you’re most definitely going to need surgery.”
Cursing my bad luck, I slunk down into the doctor’s chair
and sulked. How could I have been such a stupid klutz and caused this to
happen? Now I needed surgery? These are not words you want to hear when you’re
living in a foreign country.
*********
It’s always sad when PCVs return back to the States. In this
particular case, all those who arrived in the Peru 18 group were getting ready
to close their service, finish their two-year long projects, and return back to
the US. Saying goodbye is always difficult, but for those like me from the Peru
20 group, losing the 18-ers was especially hard. The 18-ers were like our
mentors when we first arrived. They helped us get past our starry-eyed wonder
and set realistic expectations for ourselves and our Peace Corps experience;
they gave us the encouragement and pep talks necessary to make it through our
first rainy season, our first holidays away from our families, our first
disappointments and failures; they kept us excited when we wanted to be
apathetic, positive when we wanted to blast everyone with frustrated
negativity, and optimistic when it would be so much easier to lower our hopes
and dreams. And now they were leaving. As much as we wanted them to stay, how
could we not be happy and proud of those who did so much not just for us, but
for Peru as well? So, we were determined to throw them an amazing goodbye party
and send them off in style.
Fortunately for us, we were able to have an incredible event
for our beloved 18-ers. In a Peru 19-er’s site, a family was converting a rural
hacienda-like mansion into a hotel. Since it was still under renovation and had
yet to get a lot of business, they agreed to let us rent out the entire
facility for free. The hotel was in the middle of nowhere, so we didn’t have to
worry about disturbing the local town with too much music and noise. It also
came with a swimming pool, a huge tree full of hammocks, a dancing pavilion
with lights and speakers, and a place nearby to horseback ride. Who could ask
for more? The party ended up being very bittersweet. We all had an amazing time
dancing in improv Halloween costumes, rocking out to pop music, launching
fireworks, and enjoying a photo slideshow and a roast and toast. Still, it was
hard to forget that, despite all the festivities, we were still saying goodbye.
In the midst of all of this, I did something incredibly
stupid.
My family is notorious for being klutzes. Seriously, I don’t
know how we do it. Somehow we always manage to injure ourselves in the most
awkward and idiotic manners. So, I guess it’s only fair that it was finally my
turn to join the list of ridiculous injuries.
So there I was at 1:00 AM Saturday, October 19th
taking a break from dancing when all the sudden my site mate runs past me
yelling, “Lyndsey! We’re going skinny dipping! Come and join us!”
“Oh no, thanks guys but I don’t really…”
Damn it all. There it was. I had just found an irrational
fear. Looking behind me I, I realized that all of the Peace Corps Volunteers in
my region were dancing less than 15 meters away from the pool. It was dark out,
but not nearly dark enough to give me the modesty I would have preferred. So
what was my fear? That someone would judge me for jumping naked into the pool?
That I was ashamed of my body? That I would be childish by skinny dipping?
Probably a little bit of all the above. But here’s the thing – for whatever
reason, I realized that I was afraid of shame, whether it be from myself or
from peers, and I was going to let the possibility of shame prohibit me from
having fun and from enriching my life experience with a potentially funny
memory. I had just unearthed an irrational fear and, regardless if I really
wanted to or not, I now had to take my clothes off and get in the pool.
So trying to be as quick as
possible, I stripped and jumped in. Now note: I did not swan dive. I did not
even do an epic cannonball. I just jumped like a normal person into the shallow
end of the pool. Yes, the shallow end. Now, it was a wee bit shallower than
expected, but not by a lot. This was not like jumping into a kiddy pool. It was
just, perhaps, 1-1½ ft. shallower than you would expect an American swimming
pool to be. Well, that 1-1½ ft. made all the difference. Before I knew what was
happening, my left foot struck the bottom of the pool. Four of my toes bent
naturally in one direction, but unfortunately my pinkie toe didn’t get the memo
and bent somewhere between 45-90º in the opposite direction.
I immediately knew I had just done
something very, very stupid.
Fortunately, my site mate is also
an EMT. After hobbling my way out of the cursed pool and pulling on some
clothes, I called her over to see if I had just broken my toe.
“Well, can you feel me poking it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bend it?”
“Yes.”
“If I pull it gently like this,
does it really hurt?”
“It’s uncomfortable, but not
really.”
“Well, you still have circulation,
too, so it doesn’t seem broken to me. At worst, it’s fractured, which you can’t
do anything about. Most likely you’ve just jammed the hell out of it. All we
can do is dry it off and tape it.”
Unfortunately, my toe was a lot
worse off than either one of us expected. To complicate matters even more,
there was no cell phone service where we were. As a result, I couldn’t have
called the Peace Corps emergency medical hotline even if I wanted to. So what
could I do? I taped it, stayed off my foot as much as possible, and waited.
Time:
24 hrs. after the accident
The next day I left the hotel in
the afternoon and went to Ica. As soon as I was back in a cell phone service
area, I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) on duty and explained
what happened. Not surprisingly, they immediately wanted and x-ray and
scheduled an appointment in a clinic for the following day.
Time:
48 hrs. after the accident
I arrived at the clinic relatively
pain free. My toe was swollen and a little crooked, but I attributed its
bruising and eggplant-like shape to uneven swelling. Plus, there wasn’t any
searing pain, so I saw no cause for alarm. When the technician threw my x-ray
up on the board, we observed four normal toes, but the culprit, my disobedient
pinkie toe, was...well, different. The technician, hiding a smirk, turned
around to me and said, “Well, that toe’s not even close to being where it’s
supposed to be, is it?” I stared in horror at the x-ray. My toe was completely
shifted over and askew. It was like having a mini version of the Leaning Tower
of Pisa in my foot. Knowing things were only going to go downhill from here, I
reluctantly called the PCMO again and, after explaining everything, was told
that I had to go to Lima. I limped my way out of the clinic, grabbed my stuff
from the hotel, and got on a bus.
Time:
72 hrs. after the accident
It was Tuesday morning and I was
sitting in a different clinic waiting for my appointment with Dr. Rojas, a
trauma specialist. When I finally got into his office, I explained the entire
unfortunate story to Dr. Rojas, whose face gradually darkened and looked more
and more concerned as I talked. Frowning, the doctor asked me to lie down on
the table and said he was going to try to relocate my toe. Cringing my teeth
and trying not to yelp in pain, I waited as the doctor pulled, pushed, and
jiggled my toe, trying to put it back in it’s normal spot. In his defense, he
did it as gently as he could. Finally, I heard him sigh and say, “Well, this
isn’t good.”
You never, ever want to hear those
words leave a doctor’s mouth.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Well, you’re most definitely going to need surgery.”
I listened in dismay as Dr. Rojas explained that since the
bone wasn’t immediately put back into place and it took me so long to see a
doctor, a tendon had now shifted over and squeezed into the space between the
dislocated joints. Now, no amount of pulling and pushing could put the toe back
in because the stupid tendon was in the way. Instead, they would have to cut my
toe open, put the tendon back in its normal spot, shift the bone back over, and
stick in a metal pin to secure everything in place while I healed.
Fantastic.
Time:
6 days after the accident
Friday morning I arrived at the clinic again with Dr.
Carmen, one of the PCMOs. Together we checked in, settled into my hospital
room, and answered various questions as nurses and doctors came in and out. I
had my blood drawn, blood pressure taken, heart listened to, etc. Finally, in
came the anesthesiologist, just the man I wanted to see.
Immediately I said I didn’t want to have full anesthesia.
You can call me a wimp, but I don’t like going fully under unless it’s
completely necessary. When I went under to get my wisdom teeth taken out
several years ago, I was bedridden by vomiting and nausea for a full day
afterwards. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist agreed with me, saying that full
anesthesia was definitely overkill for a simple toe operation. Satisfied, I
said I’d like local anesthesia instead.
“…I don’t recommend that.”
Stunned, I asked why not. Didn’t he just say this was going
to be a simple operation?
“You’re going to have a pin inserted through your bone.
While your toe might be numb, that pain is going to reverberate up you leg. I
don’t think local anesthesia is going to be enough. I think we should choose
something in the middle, something stronger than local anesthesia but not as
strong as full anesthesia.”
“Well, what do you recommend, then?”
“An epidural.”
“…as in what they use for childbirth?”
“Yes, exactly. We’ll numb everything from the waist down.
You won’t feel a thing.”
Good grief.
As the anesthesiologist left the room, I turned to Carmen
and asked, with all seriousness, “Can’t we just amputate the damn thing?”
“…you want to amputate your toe?”
“Why not? Besides gymnasts and ballerinas, who really needs
a pinkie toe? Honestly, this is waaaaaay too much trouble for what the damn
thing is worth. Let’s just chop it.”
“Lyndsey, we are not amputating your toe.”
“Hear me out-”
“NO!!!!”
So there I was an hour later, staring at the ceiling of an
operating room, hearing the beeping of my own heart on a heart rate monitor,
trying to ignore the IV being put in my arm while watching my leg being swabbed
in iodine. As a warning to any readers who might be undergoing a similar
experience in the future, it is not wise to binge on seasons of House before
undergoing surgery. It just freaks you out unnecessarily. As I tried my best to
not dwell on the various, horrific surgical procedures House had to salvage on
seasons 1-3, I felt myself being pulled forward by the nurses and having my
spine and sides poked at.
“Ok, now DON’T MOVE.”
Don’t move? That has got to be one of the cruelest jokes on
the planet. You’re sticking a needle directly into my central nervous system
and you expect me to not move? So of course, I twitch like crazy. I wish I
could say the process was more or less painless, but that would be a lie. As
the needle was being inserted, it felt like every nerve between my skin and my
spine was being poked along the way. Despite my best intentions, I spasmed uncontrollably
as various nerves fired all along my back and sides. Then, just when I thought
it was over with, I was informed we were halfway done. I forgot the catheter.
So, next an even bigger needle was inserted and, I kid you not, I could feel
the lidocaine being fed into my body and trailing towards my hips. Ladies,
childbirth must truly suck to be worth an epidural.
As I laid back and felt the ceiling spin, I noticed
something odd. My right leg and hip were completely numb; I couldn’t so much as
bend my toes. However, my left side still retained a bit of feeling. Guess what
side my operation was on? The left side, of course.
Even when your leg is 80-90% numb, having your toe splayed
open is highly painful. Likewise, having a pin drilled through your bone is
mildly excruciating. Now granted, I’m sure it would have hurt a lot worse if I
had no anesthesia whatsoever. But still, it hurt. Thankfully, the procedure was
short and simple. My suffering ended after about 30 minutes. However, I still
had to spend the night in the hospital with an aching back and a throbbing foot.
Time:
14 days after the accident
So here I am, still in Lima. My stitches have come out, but
I still have the pin and the left side of my foot is covered in bandages. Since
I can’t put a closed-toed shoe on, everyone in the clinic and the Peace Corps
office agreed that I should stay in Lima until the pin is removed. If I were to
return to my site in Huancavelica, the risk of further injury and infection
would be extremely high. Since I am required to walk all the time in site,
healing would be jeopardized. I could accidentally pull the pin out or jam it
further into my foot, for example. In that scenario, I’d have to trek all the
way back to Lima, which would be 10-11 hours away. I also imagine that I’d be
in excruciating pain all the while, making that perhaps the longest and worst
journey in my life. In addition, all the roads are dirt roads and there are
farm animals everywhere. Since I can only wear flip-flops, keeping my bandaging
clean would be a nearly impossible task. I really do not wish for my toe to
become infected, especially since that pin goes through my bone. On the other
hand, if I were to stay in Lima, I could reduce the risk of infection and only
be a 15-20 minute cab ride away from the clinic if anything bad were to happen.
Although I really, really didn’t want to spend my recovery in the city, it was
obvious which option was the best solution for my health. As a result, I will
be in Lima until November 18th, a full month after when my accident
occurred.
Despite the high degrees of unpleasantness, I want to make
it clear that the Peace Corps was wonderful throughout the whole ordeal. The
only time Dr. Carmen left my side was when I was in the operating room; she was
right there waiting for me as soon as I was wheeled out. My Country Director
also called me when he heard the news and even invited me to his house to make
my time in Lima more eventful. I also received a lot of warm wishes from
volunteers as well as staff, plus lots of condolences and hugs. I haven’t been
lonely since volunteers are coming up all the time for various trainings,
meetings, and appointments. Although this will most certainly affect the
schedule I had planned for myself in terms of my in-site projects, I still have
work to do, too. So, all in all it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened
to me.
In addition, in spite of all the complications, hassle, and
frustration that have resulted from my skinny dipping misadventure, if I could
travel back in time I would still jump in the pool. A misadventure is still a
kind of adventure, after all, and now we all have something to look back on,
shake our heads at, and laugh about. So perhaps I look the fool, but it makes
me and those around me smile and remember a time of fondness. Call me crazy,
but I see worth in that.
So, here’s a little lesson from me to you: whenever you hear
that little voice that says, “Oh no, I can’t” never, ever hesitate to jump.
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