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About three weeks ago my forearms started itching profusly. Initially my diagnosis of the situation was an all out attack by the mesquito squatters trying to take over my living quarters. Unfortunately, even after I started using repellent, the itching was still present. Maybe it was a spider bite, but after a week I gave up on that hypothesis. I begin to noticed a pattern in the occurence of my symptoms. If I stayed out of the sun for the day, then my arms wouldn’t itch as much. Of course deciding to stay out of the sun in Guyana is near impossible. So holding true to the philisophy that the greatest medicine is rest and relaxation, I did as little work as possible for a week and prayed the itching went away. During this time as well, pale and red patches of skin started appearing on my arm. All my students noticed this and would give their unfounded guess on what was causing this ailment. “Sir, you ate something that didn’t agree with you,” “You have ladder,” “Sir, Guyana is making you sick, go back to America.” I would laugh at that last one, cause I couldn’t really argue with them.

A week ago, I finally took the bus ride into the capital and visited a pharmacy. I went up to the pharmacist, pointed to my arm and said “This doesn’t look normal, do you have any idea what this is?” “Does it itch?” Emphatically I said “Yes, but I don’t know if my itching or the thing growing on my arm is causing the damage to my skin.” “That is fungis, here take this cream.” She gave me a prescription, and I got some cream. For some reason I doubted the diagnosis of this woman, but I bought the cream and went home. he next day,  I went to go see the local doctor. I walked in and sat on a bench. He remembered me from a past meeting, which I will explain later, and I proceded to show him my arm. Without a moments hesitation, he pronounced that fungis is growing on my arm. I showed him the cream that the pharmacists gave me, and he mentioned that I also had to take the tablet form of the cream during the two week treatment. I thanked him and walked over to the local pharmacy and recieved the tablets for $5 US. Hopefully the treatment works within the next two weeks. If not, I have been craving some mushrooms since I got here.

I visited the Golden Grove (the town/village next to Diamond) Doctor’s Clinic before to get the prescription needed for my C.B.Cs. As some of you know, I plan on going to Africa with the Peace Corps after this and they needed an updated C.B.C record. Both times, I didn’t have to wait in line, show a health insurance card, or pay a deductible. That is because health care (during the days of Burnham) was socialized here in Guyana. They still have private hospitals here, which you can pay a premium for. During my second month here, I lost my pair of glasses. I brought a back-up pair but I wanted to replace the ones I lost. I didn’t have my eye prescription on me, so I had to go to the Diamond East Bank Demerara Public Hospital. I was advised, by another teacher, to go there at 5 a.m. in the morning. That is when the gates open up and the line forms fairly quickly. The morning I got there I saw everyone sitting on a series of three long benches waiting outside. I saw people suffering from the symptoms of the flu, a guy with a huge bloody patch over his eye, and the typical older population. After about an hour of just sitting on the bench, one of the guards started handing out numbers based on seat position (and not when you entered the hospital grounds) so there was a huge rush from the people furthest away from the guard to get closer. Not being terribly crunched for time, I let people in front of me. While I was sitting there, I became afraid of picking up some of the contagious diseases around me, but I wanted to stick it out. Unfortunately, the eye doctor didn’t show up by the time 7:30 a.m rolled around so I left and just went to school. I later was able to just walk into an eye glass store and talk to the optometrist who gave me an eye exam in less then 10 minutes. When I had to get my C.B.C, I couldn’t get them done at the local public hospital. I had to go the biggest private hospital in Guyana, The Dr. Balwart Singh Hospital. The contrast between the public hospital and BSH was alarming. Instead of the hard wooden benches, I saw nice chairs laid out in front of an air conditioner. Very similar to an American hospital, I went to the front desk, told them what I needed and they gave me the paper work. I had to pay before services were given to me, but the price for my C.B.Cs wasn’t steep. Within an hour at the hospital I was on my way out with the results of the test in my hand.

As I reflect on the types of care given at both hospitals, I come to the commonly drawn conclusions. Public health care centers lack the facilities to provide the type of experience given by private hospitals. A poor individual would have to take at least a half day off from work to go see a doctor, putting him/her in an even more financially dire situation. Yet, I am sure the money provided for by the fee to recieve care at the private hospital help them provide the quality of service they give. I don’t really have an original answer for this dilemma but giving the public this choice seems to have it’s benefits. You unload patients from a single facility by giving them the option to pay a premium for better care. This also provides better care for the individuals who have no other choice but the public option since the public hospital can focus their resources on less patients. The real issue here is the cost of obtaining private health care. People need to make a living, including health professionals, but I believe the price point to receive care at the private hospitals needs to be set so that public facilities are not stretched thin. I am not sure if this means that health care professionals will have a standard of living lower than they deserve since I am not educated on the economics of health care.

On a lighter note, I didn’t realize you can microwave eggs and it actually tastes pretty good. I was at my friend’s quarters, another volunteer, and he asked me if I wanted an egg sandwhich adding “It is really easy to make.” He then put an egg into a cup, stirred, and nuked the egg for a minute. I was incredibly impressed, feeling like I had just learned a new skill that will serve me for the rest of my life. You should try it sometime for a quick and easy snack.

In repect to school, grading sucks. I hate grading 120 kids homework, assignments and tests. Especially on tests, since you want to give them credit if they were able to at least get some of the work right. Incredibly though, the kids are learning. They can finally add fractions consistently and they don’t hate me as much. One class though has begun testing my patience again. So instead of waiting until they get me mad, I pretend like I am made when I walk into the room. I usually have a look on my face like I am about to blow up, you know my normal fascade, and I always look straight into there eyes. This seems to work fairly well, but every once in awhile either a guy is trying to impress a girl or a girl is trying to impress the whole class.

Christmas break is coming and I think I might go hide out in the rainforest for a month.

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