How I went to Coban and came back with blood stains, stitches, and two prescription antibiotics

It actually was a lovely day. The rains had stopped after twelve straight hours and there was a nice breeze blowing through Chamelco as I boarded the microbus headed to Coban. I was not actually planning to go to Coban, but the rains had left the famous pools of Semuc Champey looking like chocolate milk and not their usual startlingly clear blue, and I was told by many not to even bother. Hence, I changed my weekend plans and decided to explore the city of Coban.

It happened not even 100 steps into the city. After the torrential downpour of the previous two days, there was a considerable amount of standing water in the street, but I was not deterred! Like the locals, I decided to suck it up, take off my shoes and wade through the mire. At this point you´re probably assuming, well the bare-footed idiot probably stepped on something. Wrong! To be safe, I decided to reach out and hold onto a metal fence on the edge of the murky water, just in case it was deeper than I thought or I stepped on one of the many broken bottles that litter the streets. I´m still not sure exactly how it happened, but as I stepped in I felt a odd sensation in my fingers. When I looked down at my hand I realized I was also looking at two exposed medial phalanges...and a lot of blood. At this point, I´m standing in swirling muck, holding my shoes, dripping blood at an alarming rate, trying to keep myself calm, and praying I don´t step on something in the thirty some feet of standing water between me and help.

I managed to keep myself calm enough to get through the water, struggle back into my shoes, and stumble into the nearest tienda just as the pain was starting to get intense. In Spanish I was able to explain to the slightly perplexed owner just what had happened, and she brought me a little stack of napkins to try and stop the bleeding, which had left my favorite shorts with dark reddish brown splotches. Then she ran upstairs to get a nurse who miraculously lived upstairs and was home. The nurse gave me a preliminary cleaning and helped me keep my hand elevated as the shock began to set in. I don´t remember ever experiencing shock before, but holy shit is it a frightening sensation. Within minutes my limbs had gone completely stiff, I couldn´t slow my breathing no matter how hard I tried and my fingers were totally immobilized. I momentarily convinced myself I´d also developed lock jaw, but then realized even the name implied I hadn´t. At that point I began to consciously attempt to talk myself out of shock mentally in English, while trying to maintain conversation with the people assisting me in Spanish. I didn´t fully comprehend at that point that not only had I cut through skin, but nerves as well.

All of the sudden I found myself on a stretcher heading for an little Guatemalan ambulance. It might seem a bit ridiculous, but at that point my legs definitely were not taking me anywhere. My medic was named Jose, and I think he got a kick out of my attempt to appear calm, cool, and collected, and probably my Spanish as well. Before I knew it I was explaining the situation all over again to the dozen aids who surrounded my hospital bed the second I made it off the stretcher. Apparently gringas with superficial finger injuries are a curiousity. My doctor was actually very nice and very efficient, although the shot of pain medication straight into my raw and exposed muscle made me want to throttle her. She had me cleaned up, sewn up, and sent off with two prescription medications in under 30 minutes. I must say, they did a wonderful job with me, and I was thrilled to be making it through the experience. There was a tiny part of me that desperately wished someone was there, not to help me through it, but just to witness it. I mean the situation really was ridiculous, I sliced my hand open on a fence that shouldn´t have been able to slice bread and wound up on a rural Guatemalan hospital bed,when the plan was to spend a day casually strolling through the museum and eating a good meal. Not only that, but I was getting through it all by myself, in Spanish, and not freaking out. I was oddly proud of myself.

After leaving the hospital and passing five closed pharmacies (it was a Sunday after all), I realized my next task might be harder than I´d like. Finally I found an open pharmacy, and since I had not anticipated on spending almost 300 quetzales on prescription medication, I had to bargain with the pharmacist to allow me to get half the medication but still hold onto the prescription, all in Spanish again. Roughly 200 Q later, I walked happily away with a few days supply of prescription painkillers and antibiotics. Then, since I had to take my pills with food anyway, I stopped at a slightly fancy restaurant to blow my last 30 Q on a piece of german chocolate cake the size of my head, and it was totally worth it.

The rest of the day actually went quite well. I fulfilled my plans to walk up the hundreds of steps to the Templo Calvario, and made it there just in time for afternoon mass (during which I made sure to say plenty of prayers of thanks). Then I wandered around the city a bit, and tried to get used to my bandaged and basically useless pointer and middle fingers. As the initial pain meds wore off the injury, although relatively minor as injuries go, became achingly intense.

It´s now been over two weeks, and I can tell the scars will be small, but they´ll always be there. They didn´t heal as quickly as my doctor had anticipated, and the stitches had to remain in for almost a full week after the original estimate. After spending another hour in the Red Cross waiting room here in Xela, I decided to remove the stitches myself and despite a little pain was successful. The feeling is fine in both fingers, but the mobility will take time. The stitches were actually an interesting topic of conversation here in Xela and at Bezaleel School as well. They were an odd way to break the ice with the students in both locations, and I got used to living life with 8 fingers very quickly. Now that they´re gone it feels a little funny. It´s strange, but it´s one of those life experiences that, after the fact, I didn´t really mind having. I´ve given a little blood to Guatemala, and Guatemala in turn will leave me with two scars, one jagged and one smooth and straight. I can´t think of a better metaphor for my experiences here.