i am not the word

Usually when people are feeling sick, or in pain, and they start googling their symptoms, they catastrophize things. WebMD is not our friend. A headache is a possible brain tumour, and so on and so forth. And then we go to the doctor and they reassure us that it’s just (insert common ailment here) and we are sent on our way. I wish that was my story, I like that story… can I have that story instead?

I had that, for a minute, as my story. Sorta. And then it all came crashing down.

Picture this though, I had just moved to Ecuador. It was during hardcore pandemic times. Having already done a two week quarantine in Canada just to visit family between leaving Vietnam and moving to Ecuador, Nick and I were now quarantining in a hotel in Quito for two weeks, in order to move to our new home. And that quarantine was ROUGH. One reason was a day of relationship turmoil, but I will save that story for another day. But another reason was that we were literally stuck in a hotel room, not able to leave, served all our meals (had to order more food cause there was definitely not enough!) and without fresh air for 13 days.

If you have ever been to a city like Quito, you know that altitude will hit ya upon arrival. We planned to pass the time in many ways, like working out, but my body was like ‘no thank you, next idea please’. Altitude was hitting me hard and I stuck to yoga, but naturally Nick pushed through it. We couldn’t go out for a walk, we needed to move in some way.

But the reality was that my chest was feeling tight every time I tried to do anything, so yoga was my movement. And that worked for the time being. I pushed aside any possible worry about my chest, and chalked it up to altitude. Why wouldn’t it be? That is when I first noticed it, so it made sense. And then on day 13, rules changed and we were released a day early. We were free! We went for a walk as soon as we found out, wandering around our new city and marvelling at the green areas. We weren’t used to this, Ho Chi Minh City isn’t exactly known for it’s greenery.

Once we had finally been able to move to our new home in Tumbaco, in the valley of Quito, we were able to walk more. We had a beautiful path right by our home, called the Chaquiñan, and it was lush and green, with mountain views. We spent many mornings and late afternoons after work, walking the trail. But a lot of those walks were uphill. Our house was uphill from the gate. Our conjunto was uphill from the trail. And every time I had to walk up a hill my chest felt tight. I chalked it up to being out of shape, or at least not in uphill walking shape. Life in Vietnam didn’t present itself a lot of uphill walking opportunities. And altitude, still. Although I thought you were supposed to adjust to that after awhile.

As time went on, work started, and we were working virtually. New teachers at a new school in a new city/country/continent, and we were meeting our coworkers and students, but virtually. We were teaching classes virtually to new students, ones who wouldn’t put their cameras on. And it involved a lot of sitting. Where in a classroom we would usually be on our feet, walking around the classroom, walking around campus on breaks and lunch, now we were sitting at a desk or on a couch and delivering lessons.

As September rolled on, I started to notice the pain in my chest get worse. Some days I would be fine, and others I felt a pain I had never felt before. And then I threw up. Why does that matter? I am not even sure it does, or if it is connected. But I remember one week in September when I just felt awful. Something inside me knew this wasn’t just a normal sickness, I wasn’t just having a moment. It wasn’t from drinking tap water in a new place, or whatever some people might chalk it up to when moving countries. But I brushed it off, because why would chest pain be connected to throwing up? They seemed unrelated and so they were, and maybe they are.

Honestly, I feel like I have always been surrounded by people who push through, work through it, keep going. Why go to the doctor for a pain? It will go away. You threw up? You are fine, keep working. Can’t let a little pain or sickness get in the way of being productive right? I feel like that is the world we live in, or at least it was growing up. In some countries, people don’t go to the doctor cause it’s expensive, so if you go, it better be worth it. But I am from Canada, I have been fortunate to never feel that way. But I have forever felt like you are supposed to work through sickness, pain, etc. That is just what I always saw around me, and so I subtlety picked up on that bullshit mentality too.

By October, the pain was too much to bear. I knew I couldn’t deal with this on my own anymore. I was sick of feeling it when I went on walks. We had adopted two beautiful dogs and I was at the point where it was becoming difficult to walk them. I thought to myself, maybe my muscles are just not used to them? Could it be the dogs that are the problem? Maybe they are constantly pulling and it is hurting something in my chest… There had to be a simple answer. This seemed likely, and so for awhile that was my explanation.

Eventually I knew I needed to get checked out. And so I found out where I could go to a walk-in clinic and went one day after work. Going to the doctor in a country where you don’t speak the language is always daunting. I have had to do it in every country I have lived in. In the Marshall Islands, I had a broken leg and a cast needed to be removed. I also got an IUD put in there. In Niger, a staph infection in a place you don’t want any kind of infection. In Vietnam, where I do start? There was always a way around language barriers. Or there were hospitals made for foreigners!

As we went to the clinic in Cumbaya, I knew we could get by between google translate and Nick’s modest Spanish skills. The doctor we saw did speak English, even though he told us he didn’t… he did. As I explained to him my pain, and Nick attempted to translate, he examined me.

I remember lying on the examination table and he was pressing on my ribs. It was clear that there was something wrong with my ribs and that was causing all of this. When he said the word costochondritis, I remembered it from reading it when I googled my symptoms earlier that week. He told me about the inflammation in my ribs that was likely the cause of the pain, prescribed me some NSAIDs and sent me on my way.

There is such a relief that comes with an explanation. When you have a diagnosis, you can work towards a solution. I went straight to google and started reading about how people deal with the pain. I started taking the meds and ordered myself a backpod. I found yoga for people with costochondritis on YouTube. I remember being a little upset, because the reality is that there wasn’t much I could do about it. The pain would come and go, and people just seemed to live with it. I didn’t want to live with it, I wanted a solution for getting rid of it.

The meds worked for a few days, but looking back it may have been mostly psychological, because before long the pain was back and seeking vengeance. And then the nose bleeds started. Another thing I never connected to any of it.

I remember sitting in front of the computer, during one of our weekly Spanish lessons, and we were waiting for it to begin when my nose started bleeding. I couldn’t tell you the last time I had a bloody nose. Aside from my nose ring digging into my nose and making it bleed, I honestly can’t think of when I have had a bloody nose before. And here I was, blood slowly pouring from my nose. And there was no part of me that thought, hey… maybe the pain in your chest is connected to this random nose bleed? Not when it happened the first time. Not when it happened the second time. I honestly didn’t even connect it until I reflected on all of it way later down the line.

So at this point, a week of throwing up, random nose bleeds, and a pain in my chest that the doctor told me was costochondritis. Our new life in Ecuador wasn’t starting out on the greatest note…