does this bruise on my face make me look fat?

First, let me say that I’m fine. For reals. I’m going to tell you about my weekend and I do not want you to get all excited or anything because I’m fine. There is no need to worry about me. It’s an amusing story. Because I’m FINE.

So on Friday I was transported to Tbilisi in an ambulance and spent the night in the hospital. I know. That sounds terrible and scary! But it wasn’t too bad. And also, I’m ok, remember? Let me start from the beginning.

the fainting

On Friday morning I woke up and my stomach felt weird. This isn’t uncommon. With all the changes in my diet over the past five months, I often feel weird sensations in my stomach.

(I will interject here to say that I’m going to be talking a bit about my digestive system. See, as a PCV, I talk about that a lot. I used to be shy about these things. Peace Corps has rid me of that. I would say that about 40-50% of conversations with other PCVs involve at least one mention about the state of one’s digestive system. This includes things like stomach cramps, bloating, gas, and especially bowel movements, both consistency and frequency. It sounds strange but you get used to it.)

So my stomach felt weird. I was getting occasional sharp pains. My feeling about them was one of annoyance. I assumed it was gas, cursed myself for trying the corn at dinner the previous evening, had a bit of yogurt for breakfast, and headed to work. It was a big morning on Friday as some representatives from the European Council were coming to our office for a meeting. I got in a little after 10am. By this point the sharp pains were getting more intense and more frequent, and I mentioned to my coworkers that I didn’t feel well.

Around 11am, the representatives had arrived and we started our meeting. It was interesting as they wanted to learn more about the status of ethnic minorities in our region of Georgia and my directors are experts on the subject. Every time I participate in meetings like this I learn more. But this time it was hard to focus. As the meeting went on, the pains in my stomach got worse. Maybe it wasn’t gas, after all? I shifted and tried to pay attention but it was becoming unbearable. Then pretty soon I started to feel lightheaded. Like a head rush that wouldn’t clear, with fuzzy vision and muffled hearing.

I knew what was coming. And to be honest, I was mostly pissed that I was going to faint here, in the middle of this meeting. For chrissake, why can’t these kinds of things happen on mornings when I’m just sitting at my computer checking my email.

In that moment I figured the least awkward way of handling this situation would be to discreetly get up and go splash some water on my face. Surely I could walk it off. So I stood up and started for the bathroom. Yes, it’s true, I couldn’t really see or hear anything by this point, but neither could Helen Keller and look how far she got in life. If she could learn to spell, I could walk to the bathroom. I’m pretty sure I took about four or five steps.

Then I felt a sensation of falling. Then I felt a sensation of being hit in the face with a 2 x 4. Then I felt myself being dragged to a chair. Then I had a lovely dream that I can’t remember but I know was pleasant. Then after what felt like a very long time I started hearing a lot of background noise. It got louder and I realized it was yelling and I thought to myself “Why can’t people talk at a normal level, there is no reason to shout!” And then I felt someone slap me in the face and two things that felt like fingers being stuck in my mouth. And as I opened my eyes and saw my coworkers standing over me, shouting my name, shaking me, and, yes, putting their fingers in my mouth (maybe to make sure I wasn’t choking on my tongue?), I remembered where I was and what had happened.

I was then carried to a couch where I was fanned and immediately given a variety of things to drink. A cold compress was put on my head and I was wrapped in a blanket. Out of nowhere my coworker produced a pair of pink polka dot socks with decorative satin bows to keep my feet warm (I learned later that she ran – literally – across the street to a store to buy said socks). There was still yelling, but it was all making more sense now. And about this time I started to become conscious of the pain radiating across my face and came to the realization that when I fainted, face-first, I must have connected with something hard, most likely a door frame.

So there I was: laying on a couch, bruised in various places including my face, and now completely embarrassed and overwhelmed by the big fuss I had caused. Also, my stupid stomach still hurt, though not as much. I wanted to say “hey, nothing to see here, I’m fine, let’s just get back to work now, shall we?!” But my coworkers told me they had called a doctor. So now doctors were involved. This was becoming a bigger deal than I would have preferred. So I called my Peace Corps doctors, since they are the best and definitely need to be involved in any medical care I receive.

(I am going to interject again to tell you that the Peace Corps doctors really are the BEST. Seriously. I will likely never have as good of medical care again in my life. For all the health challenges that get thrown one’s way as a PCV, we have the best resources for care and treatment. The Peace Corps doctors are basically available 24/7. And they are not only incredibly competent, they are also really nice and easy to talk to, even about things that could be potentially embarrassing, like gas and bowel movements.)

So all the doctors conferred. I was checked out and prodded. After a lot of talking and a bit of crying on my part (ok, all the stress of the situation had finally gotten to me), it was decided that, considering my condition and the circumstances, I would go to Tbilisi. If there was something wrong, that would be the best place for me to be. And I guess since I had hit my head and was still having abdominal pains, they decided to send me in an ambulance, which would be the quickest and safest way to get me to Tbilisi, where the best medical care is. As this ambulance wouldn’t arrive in my town for another hour and then the drive to Tbilisi would take another two or three, it wasn’t the kind of TV medical drama-type situation you might imagine. But still, what a mess.

the ambulance 

A coworker took me home. I packed a bag since I knew I would be gone for the weekend and waited for the ambulance. It arrived rather quietly, no lights or sirens. There were two doctors and one assistant-type person who spoke English. This assistant fella was youngish and had a tattoo of a lightening bolt on his neck. For that reason, we’ll call him Sparky.

So I laid down while the doctors took my vitals, Sparky translating for me what I couldn’t understand. They checked to see if I was having rebound pain in my abdomen (a sign of a appendicitis), and luckily I wasn’t. And while they were taking my blood pressure, my host mother and sister asked the doctors if they wanted coffee. They said yes, naturally. So after they finished checking me out and called my PC doctor to report on my status, we went to the living room and they had their coffee.

Now. I imagine that might seem strange to you. My ambulance doctors sitting down for a coffee break. To give you some cultural context, it really isn’t possible to go to anyone’s home in Georgia without being offered coffee. Same with any professional meeting. You can’t go many places without being given coffee and snacks. Also, I wasn’t, like, dying or anything. So yes, I’m not going to lie, it was odd for me to sit there on the couch and patiently wait while my ambulance doctors finished their coffee. But at the same time, I can’t say I was surprised. And in their defense, I’m pretty sure that if I had been bleeding out or something they would have passed on the coffee. Pretty sure.

So while they had coffee, Sparky chatted with me (he doesn’t drink coffee, he informed us all). He asked me where I was from, of course. When he found out I was American, he told me how much he would like to “work in the streets of New York.” Maybe he meant “walk”? Or maybe he wants to be a mime? I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling chatty so I didn’t ask a lot of follow-up questions. Meanwhile the other (male) doctors told me I was pretty. I was starting to wish I would just faint again.

Everyone finished their coffee and we piled into the ambulance. I laid down on the gurney and they strapped me in for the ride. Sparky kept asking me questions. Stuff about what I had eaten, whether I might be pregnant, and if I found it difficult living in Georgia. Finally, he took a break with the questions to spend some time conversing with the doctors. After some earnest dialog among the three, he turned to me and said “Kelley, we know what is wrong with you. You are having stress. You have moved to a new country and you miss America and that is why you are having these problems.” I told him I thought that it was unlikely that homesickness was causing the shooting pains in my abdomen.

Not to be deterred, Sparky and the doctors conferred again, determined to get to the root of my problems. After a few minutes Sparky turned back to me and this time said, “Kelley, we know why this is happening. You are too thin and do not eat enough. Most Americans are fat but you are like a model. You need to eat more.”

I want to say that up to that point I was genuinely grateful for all the care, attention, and concern that everyone had shown me since I had fallen on my face earlier in the day. Truly grateful. But were they kidding me with this “diagnosis?” Sadly, no.

So after a hearty guffaw and eye-roll, I told him that was most certainly bullshit. I have never eaten as much in my life as I have these last five months. I couldn’t starve if I tried, what with the imperatives to “eat, eat!” that I field all the live-long day. And, also, FYI, Americans come in all shapes and sizes.

Luckily after that they mostly left me alone for the rest of the ride. This gave me time to think. I have to admit that while lying there in that ambulance, a not-insignificant part of me hoped that there was actually something wrong with me; at least enough to warrant all this fuss. I know. That’s messed up. But still, I thought it. I hate to be a bother, ya know?

the hospital

So we finally got into Tbilisi. Yes, Sparky and Company had danced all over my last nerve, but they had transported me safely and quickly, so I was happy. They took me to the medical center where my Peace Corps doctor was waiting for me. This specific center is the best in Tbilisi and the place, for example, where U.S. Embassy employees receive care. Between my awesome doctor and the wonderful staff of the center, I knew I was in good hands.

They took my blood for analysis and gave me ice packs for my face, which was pretty sore by this point. They also started me on an IV as I hadn’t eaten anything since that yogurt I had for breakfast.

There were lots of tests. I had an EKG for my heart to make sure that there wasn’t something wrong with my ticker that may have caused the fainting. They wanted to know if I had destroyed my noggin in the fall so I had a CT scan (my first! I found the whirring soothing). I also had some sort of EKG (?) thing for my brain. It involved having a netted cap squeezed over my head and then a million (ok, not a million, maybe more like thirty?) electrodes attached to it . They then monitored my brain reactions under various sorts of conditions including rest, hyperventilation, and strobe lights. There were no mirrors so I’m not sure how silly I looked decked out in this gear. But I’m sure it was pretty silly. For funsies, this is my artist’s rendition of how I might have looked:

The test.

And of course they wanted to know what was causing my abdominal pains. I have to say, that of all the ailments that had befallen me that day, this one worried me the most. I wasn’t really concerned about the fainting. This has happened to me before when I’ve gotten overheated in crowds. I wasn’t really concerned about damage from the fall. Yes, my face hurt and was a little bruised, but everything was still in the right place. And I was alert and thinking very clearly so my brain was no less sharp than the day before. No, the thing that scared me were these pains in my belly. They would come and go, and when they came they were so intense. I’d never had pains like this before. I didn’t want to have caused everyone all this trouble for nothing. But I also didn’t want my appendix to burst inside of me. Ya know?

So they did an ultrasound on my abdomen. They looked all over. They checked out my appendix, my pancreas, my stomach, my lady parts, everything. They were thorough. And what they found was that my intestine was inflamed. Oh, and there was a lot of gas.

Yep. Gas. GAS. Can you believe that? All that trouble because of gas. I feel like such a tool box.

The Conclusion

After all the tests and the big crazy day, I was exhausted. I stayed in the hospital on Friday night so that they could monitor me. And on Saturday I moved to a guesthouse in Tbilisi so that I could rest and be around in case anything else happened. They aren’t sure yet what caused the inflammation of my intestine. Maybe parasites or something. A stool sample will check for that. (I warned you that I might mention bowel movements.) In the meantime, I’ve been on a gentle diet and taking some medication. My pains are gone now. And all the other tests came back fine, but I will have a follow-up with a top-notch neurologist this week just to make sure I haven’t broken my brain. (I definitely did not break my brain.) And my face looks ok (as good as it ever did, at least!). I have a small scrape and bruise on my nose, but nothing too terrible. From a distance it kind of looks like freckles.

So I’m ok. I feel a little silly, but I’m happy that I’m healthy. I feel really fortunate that I have so many people around me that care about my well-being, including coworkers, friends, and fellow PCVs. And I am, of course, very grateful to have such wonderful doctors and access to high quality medical care. As a PCV, there aren’t many luxuries. Fantastic health care is one of the few. Yes, access to good medical care shouldn’t be a luxury, but sadly it is.

So that was the saga of my weekend. But, like I said, I’m ok! You don’t have to worry about me too much. Yes, I fall into walls from time to time, but when I do there are good people around here to put me back together. We should all be so lucky.