I became sick on day 12, though I still wrote a lot. Day 13 I barely wrote a paragraph and then days 14, 15, and 16 I didn’t even write at all. So, currently on day 27, here is day 17 as recorded in my journal…
I do not plan to completely skip over my memories of days fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. But to recount them, I will have to come back at a later date instead of trying to catch up now. Essentially, they were not entirely different from the first full day of sickness as described in day thirteen, with little action involved. This thing – whatever is going on inside me – has lasted nearly a week already. And while the diarrhea and vomiting have ceased, an indescribable emptiness and oddness of the stomach – leaving me almost wishing I could throw up just once more – and complete fatigue of the body persist. Even today, which was probably my best day so far, I spent the vast majority of the daylight hours sleeping, lying uncomfortably in a balled position trying to sleep, or attempting to read in bed before resorting back to one of the first two options. A bowl of sliced apples at the cafe seemed to settle nicely in my confused belly – which has become increasingly hungry from days of less than normal consumption, and yet I can’t seem to find the appetite to get much down.
The high note for the day was that it was Bekah’s birthday. Happy 24th, sister! I wish I could have had the time, energy, or money to get her more than the wimpy little note I managed before becoming too tired to even write anything further. But anyways, she has been a great sister the past five and a half months and I hope she knows I love her. To celebrate, the team went out to dinner with plans for desert after. Apparently the girls had found the selected restaurant earlier in the day while exploring, and were told that it would be open until seven. There were two parts to the restaurant, a cafe with a pretty decent menu and affordable prices which they had chosen, and the more upscale fancy area one floor above where prices tripled. We arrived at the front desk by the elevator and were informed only the expensive one remained open this late hour of the night – six eighteen. Fortunately, we were able to order from the cheaper menu and twenty minutes later I was indulging my biggest meal in a week, chowing down on some kind of meet – not beef – between two burger buns. Although a little weird-tasting, it was nonetheless a pretty delicious meal, complemented by fries we were positive came from the McDonald’s down the street and my chocolate milkshake I had ordered before realizing desert was going to be on the team after. Speaking of desert and with Mickey D’s still on my mind, I mistakenly went the entire evening believing we were going to the popular chain for McFlurries as opposed to the local bakery we arrived at instead, named “Flurry’s.” A simple hearing mistake, yes, but one prolonged by the inability to speak – to interact.
As we waited around the counter for people to make their orders, a funny thing happened. From the beginning of this fast, I thought at least one possible reason for it, among others, was that I might become better able to understand and empathize and relate to people with similar handicaps who society can tend to overlook. A deaf, mute Indian man must have seen or sensed something in the way I was carrying myself from about fifteen feet away, approached and began trying to communicate through sign language to his new-found brother of an unspoken fraternity. At this point, several thoughts ran through my mind – first probably being, “Help! What do I do!?” But immediately after that passed, I also thought I wished I had picked up more sign language so far besides the alphabet and my own made-up charades gestures. (Side note: why in the world is sign language not universal? How silly is it to have different sets of signs for different continents?). The thought that recurred most after the fact was, I wonder how he could pick me out and just know like that from across the room? Is that a sense deaf people acquire – how to easily recognize their own? I might have understood if someone had been talking to me and I tried to communicate back. But we had basically just walked in, and I was just standing there as some went to the glass display cases to drool over the goodies behind them and other retained similar positions to my own.
Anyways, the most pressing thought was, “How do I communicate with this man?” Feeling helpless, I naturally turned to Braedon, who was right beside me, for translation. Of course, this was futile as he was in the same boat as me when it came to understanding sign language or reading lips. In the end, we shared a hand shake, a smile, and a true connection after being able to communicate only that I could not speak and what he hopefully understood to be, “God loves you,” as denoted by pointing and looking up, covering my heart in embrace, and then pointing to him. Can’t be sure, but I kind of feel like he got it. We parted ways and that was the end of that. I continue to question what my possible role within this handicap community may be, whether throughout the remainder of these forty days, or after from lessons learned during. Only time will tell….
