Day #1 in the Unidad de Infectologia

First of all, here are a few pictures to show the crazy weather we’ve had in the last few days. The white background isn’t because I have a crappy digital camera, but rather is the clouds that were sitting in the valley and causing a perpetual drizzle. It’s stopped raining now, but I’m a little sad that I no longer see the lady on the corner sporting her bowler hat wrapped in a plastic bag.







I guess I should also mention that I moved – to Sopocachi, actually, the neighborhood that I’ve mentioned in the past. The decision was a combination of factors, but was mostly because my future but not anymore roommate decided to come to La Paz later than expected, and I was quite tired of living alone. I suppose I should also mention that the new apartment is gorgeous, probably nicer than my apartment in Chicago, and is also about a 10 minute walk to the main part of the Prado. I feel more comfortable in every respect…except for the fact that we have an empleada (the La-Paz term for a maid). Doña Rosa is a lovely lady who comes every morning for a few hours to make breakfast, clean, do laundry, and cook lunch. This is extremely weird for me. I’m usually up around 7:30, a bit before she arrives, so I usually make my own breakfast and leave before I see her in action. But I haven’t at all gotten used to the fact that someone is cleaning my dirty dishes, making my bed every day, and addressing me habitually as “señorita.”

I’ve officially started working at the hospital. IIt was still dark out and bitterly cold (about 25 degrees), so much that my toes started to go numb, when I arrived at 6:45 to make the rounds with the two interns and Dr. Revollo. I found the Claudias in their room, which is located not 20 feet for the ward, as they were getting out of their queen sized bed (which practically fills the space) and watching TV. At 7:00 we met up with the doctor, who seemed very surprised to see me there so early, and proceeded to check in with all 20 or so of the patients. The ward is divided into two large rooms, one for women and one for men, with all of the patients in side-by-side numbered beds (picture an orphanage). As we walked around I began to develop a genuine admiration for Dr. Revollo because he treats these patients not with the usual medical indifference, but rather as if they are living, thinking, and feeling human beings. He’s this 60 year old man with wiry gray hair that sticks up from his forehead in an Einstein-esque fashion, and as he moved from bed to bed he was laughing and joking with each patient. He radiates a light-heartedness that I believe these sick people desperately need in order to put up with the misery of their surroundings.

I was a bit overwhelmed by all of the medical terminology that was being thrown at me, so I decided that it would be a better use of my time to read the case histories of each patient and then come back the next day with a more informed idea of what was going on. While the Claudias were off at a seminar, I sat down with the pile of metal files, conveniently labeled with each bed number at the top. First of all, when I first asked the presiding nurse if I could read the files, she told me “Sure…for two minutes.” I was a bit taken aback by the randomness of her response, which she justified by saying “I don’t know who you are, you could be anyone.” So after I dropped Dr. Revollo’s name, she immediately warmed up to me, handed over the files, and exclaimed, “Well, how rude that he didn’t introduce me!” So while I familiarized myself with the terminology for pulmonary tuberculosis, hepatitis A, bedsores, and Karposi’s sarcoma, patient #5, the 39 year old alcoholic with pneumonia and gastroenteritis, shuffled up and down the ward in his bare feet, wearing only a bathrobe and a hat.