My Toenails Aren’t Growing (And Other Concerns)

One evening after a far-too-long long day,

I stretched out on my bed to drift away,

Then looked down at my feet,

A strange thought I did meet,

My nails haven’t changed since last May...

Surely the polish had started to chip,

But all sign of growth had taken a dip,

When I glanced at my fingers,

Where polish yet lingers,

I found the same thing on those tips.

For that matter where did these bumps come from,

And my ears have developed a permanent hum,

My knee hurts when I hike,

My shoulders when I bike,

And my tailbone’s now permanently numb.

Some days there’s a quick sprint to the bathroom,

On others I long for the need for that zoom,

When with other PCVs*

It’s topics like these,

Make me wonder if I’ll ever find a groom.

In the mornings I wake with a sore throat and back,

I think that I’m shrinking from the calcium I lack,

Do I have a parasite,

I think that I might,

The cure will surely be watching TV on my mac.

All of my hair is turning grey or falling out,

I have six new moles from cancer no doubt,

Host mom says it’s the cold,

Or that my coffee’s too bold,

Oh and I’m sure I’m developing gout.

It’s crazy though, each day I’m sure that I’m dying,

But if I said I’d like to go home, I’d be lying,

Toenail growth or no,

Toilets as friend or foe,

When I leave here I know I’ll be crying.

*Peace Corps Volunteers

Higado

It was no secret that Becca had had a rough start to her Peace Corps service, or perhaps it was to some, either way, times had been less than desirable in those early months. But a strange sort of shift had started within her that she couldn’t have seen coming. 

The day that she did finally notice it left her in a brilliant mixture or glee and total shock. Sitting at lunch with two friends, Monica and Gina, during vacation, Becca ordered a menu which consisted of soup, a main course and a drink. As they chit-chatted, the truth came out.

“I really like this place and it’s so sunny, I feel like I never---,” Monica began.

“Score!” Becca exclaimed staring into her soup. Sifting through with her spoon for a moment, she revealed a small, smooth, brownish blob. “I got higado*! I love higado!” She plopped it in her mouth and grinned wildly as she chewed.

“Becca...” Monica began, but stopped short, running out of whatever thought she’d had as she watched Becca, still enjoying her soup while bopping about to the loud peruvian music playing in the street.

“Oh sorry, I cut you off, what were you saying?” Becca said innocently.

“Are you dancing?” Monica asked, still confused.

“How can you not dance to this music? It’s so catchy, I love this song,”

“Becca...” Monica began again. “Who are you right now?”

Becca paused for a moment and looked at her grinning friend and found herself confused for a moment as well. In a matter of months the girl who never danced and would have blanched at the thought of higado was...well, this...? “I have no idea, I’ll keep you posted,” she answered and finished her soup.

*Higado = Liver