There Are No Perfect Words: Just Be There

I didn’t sleep last night, so I was tired coming into work, my brain a fuzzy cotton ball. Unfocused thoughts, threads of meaning, half-decisions appearing and disappearing into the grey matter fog. My coworker told me that my eyes looked like they needed pajamas. At dance class last week, it was clear. Why I am doing this, why this work is my work, this blood my blood.

Five years  ago I worked at a fancypants sleepover camp, supervising counselors, delivering Important Messages From Above, making sure beds had (only) the assigned bodies in ‘em at night, talking in soothing tones with parents on the phone. It was a walking behind the elephant kind of job, and I relished any time I had with actual campers, with young people, with high schoolers. I can’t help it. I like their angsty, precocious, hopeful, fatalistic awkwardness. I like how they surprise me, make me want to be a better example, call me out when I stray from my own principles.

I was called to talk to a girl who stepped out of class crying and didn’t come back for a while. Ten or 15 minutes maybe. I sat next to her and she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, said she’d get in trouble. I laid out the usual boundary: only if you plan on hurting yourself or others, maybe I mentioned sharing only up not out. I don’t know how she ended up telling me, because thinking back all I remember is her not looking at me, and crying, her face red and splotchy. Her boyfriend was being hurt by his family and she was far away and can’t help or comfort him. He was in a bad state, and so was she, by extension. What is there, really, to say to that? After going to school to study language and signs and meaning I can safely say that there’s just nothing to say, most of the time. There are no magic words. Later that day, I searched for places he could call and go, gave her a list when no one was looking.

Today in the middle of lunch, my coworker asked me to stop eating and come with her. Could I do a counseling session for a non-native speaker? After some quick thinking we decided that me interpreting for a counselor would be better. The woman had been here prior, with another interpreter, and the decision she had reached then was different than the one she was - adamantly and with much conviction - choosing now. The pressure to translate clearly and unequivocally, combined with the energy of her anxiety and frustration made me shake from nervousness. The mantra I had from camp – be the calmest person in the room – smoothed things out only slightly. I still said “sanitary napkins” instead of um, “pads” about five times. Cringe-worthy translation, my friends. Not my proudest moments as a polyglot.

What a complicated situation to be in, to be in another country with imperfect knowledge of the language, making decisions alone. I wanted to reach out and touch her, hold her hand through the fog and shakiness. Tomorrow I am going in with her, to interpret from the sidelines or maybe just to offer a familiar language, to witness and just be there.

I think sometimes the most we can offer each other is to just be there, to confirm that we are not ever really all alone.

Thank you, Julia!: A Package Arrives to Loud Cheering

I haven’t been the most diligent blogger lately. First it was a physical malady, then analyzing data from Peru took over my life, and  now I’ve been staying up until 6 am working on reports and the endless lit review. But I digress. I do have a moment for a quick update to share my joy at receiving a package.

It arrived last week, in a little box with lots of tape. It had crumpled up glossy magazine pages protecting the gifts inside.

One magazine went where no other magazine had gone before…

It had delicious, useful, and silly items inside. Sunblock, my favorite tea, Dr. Bronner’s, granola floss, lint picker-uppers, and more!

If you’re thinking of sending a package…Just send it!

There was much curiosity and excitement about the new items, and the box they came in. I shared the almond butter and peanut butter with coworkers and drank the vitamin C during dance class. The most curious were the cats I am taking care of this month.

Sniffing analysis ascertained that the box came from far away. 

So, thank you, Julia! Beloved, thoughtful, warm-hearted friend. I am so grateful & the cats are too.

PS If you’d like to send me a package in the next month, here’s where to send it: Calle 33A 17-60 Teusaquillo, Bogotá, Colombia.

Detour to Ralph City: Adventures in Food Poisoning

Last night was spent in Ralph City, befriending the toilet. Not one of my favorite places to visit, but food poisoning doesn’t care where you want to go. It started with chills, which kept multiplying. Soon, I was losing control.

The experience was a lot less exciting than this video portrays.

I’ll spare you (most of) the salacious details. Suffice it to say that chocolate ice cream does not taste better the second time around. Especially when it is coming out of your nose.

I think mozzarella cheese is to blame. My coworker gave me a turtle-shaped piece, and I kept it in my bag for a day before refrigerating it. You’d think I’d know better! After dance class, I was excited to come home and make a barebones caprice salad – tomato, mozzarella and balsamic vinegar only. I also ate some potatoes that have been hanging out, covered, on the stove top for a day or two. Who knows what caused it?

The important part is, everything came back quickly, in liquid form, at all hours of the night. I spent the morning drifting in and out of sleep, with a purring cat next to me. This afternoon’s plans includes savoring crackers and black tea, between sips of water. Maybe if my coworker comes over for lunch, I’ll ask her to bring a weirdly colored sports drink. And then we can watch this hilarious overly enunciated video:

Why yes, I have eaten a type of food product!

Food poisoning suggestions, stories and commiseration welcome in the comments.

Focus Groups with Women: Things Left Unsaid

I started focus groups with contraceptive users yesterday. It’s been providers only before, gathering data for my practicum. Women, contraceptive users, clients – however you call them, are completely different. Their stories get into your heart, their words are less precise, their qualms don’t fit into charts and tables.

It’s draining. I had two groups today, maybe that’s why I want to crawl into bed and eat Rocky Road ice cream with potato chips. For a week. While watching addicting bad tv.

Maybe it’s because I had a million things I wanted to tell them, clarify, provide resources. But focus groups aren’t about that. I can observe and try to improve things later on, but in the moment I am helpless to change anything. I agree and accept all sorts of responses, reactions I wouldn’t dream of encouraging if I were presenting, teaching, training.

The things I wish I could have said pile up throughout the hour or two, linger in my head at the end, when the women leave alone or in pairs, thanking me or walking out quietly. This happened in DR too, when I did life story interviews there. (Much messier, completely unstructured, unsupervised, ultimately unused.) So much I wish I could have said, could say.  If wishes were horses…here is what I would have said, were it possible, were it up to me:

1. Your body is yours. Not your lover’s, not your husband’s, not your children’s. Yours. You are responsible for it, for doing what is right for you, for ensuring – at times, forcefully – that others respect this right, your decisions, your needs.

2. Whether or not you want to be pregnant is your choice. Yours alone. My heart aches for you that your experience has been one of disassociation, abandonment, fear, resignation. You deserve to be happy.

3. I don’t know how to help. I very much wish I did. I am working on things that might maybe end up helping you, or women like you, sometime in the future. But this moment? I am at a loss.