In America

A few days after I got back from India I went to the grocery store with my mom. I counted 15 different kinds of orange juice. I ended up buying the pulpy one with extra calcium.

Bathrooms in America have toilet paper. They all do, even the grungy gas station ones. No more hoses or buckets of water for me.

I'm in the United States of Toilet Paper and Huge Grocery Stores.

Transitioning back into non-travel, non-India, non-volunteering, non-hospital life has been bumpy. Comfy, but bumpy. I basically live the life of my dog, Monty. I sleep, I eat, I'm not allowed to cook any food (thank you, typhoid) and I go for walks. Then I nap again. My first few days back were spent eating home cooking and going to doctors appointments. I'm still in the midst of copious doctor visits and tests. As far as I can tell, I'm well on my way to being fully recovered. No more fevers, I'm slowly gaining some of my lost weight back and my stomach/liver isn't hurting as much anymore.

My home doctors have decided it is necessary for me to be tested for typhoid once a week for the next month. This news didn't surprise me. My typical doctor appointment usually starts with a prep nurse coming in to take my temperature and such. She kindly and politely asks, "And why are you here today?" "I got typhoid fever in India." "Ohh..." She is dumbfounded and her response is more of a gasp than a word. Then they call the Kaiser Infectious Disease Specialist...

This mysterious doctor is a man I've come to imagine fully, but have never actually met. My doctors usually consult this man when they find out I had typhoid. The t-word is something of concern, to say the least, of medical people of the Western world. I like to think this specialist is a guy who is immensely talented and yet immensely bored and useless in a country far far away from deadly mosquitoes and unsanitary water. He watches reruns of Lost and reads Michael Crichton novels all day. Framed photos of spider bites and tropical rashes line the walls his office. A little red phone sits on the edge of his desk. Then, one day, the phone rings and a bewildered nurse is on the other end. "Yes, Doctor, Ms. Reardon has... typhoid." The phone drops from his shaking hands...his eyes stare dreamily off into the distance, off into a world of gi-hugeous killer bugs and poopy water. He composes himself and orders dozens of tests on the poor, jet lagged girl. "It's game time."

There has been nothing drastically new found on any of the tests so far. I eagerly await my bill of clean health and the day when Mr. Infectious Disease Specialist goes back to being bored.

I've been home for two weeks now. These two weeks, though vacant of my lonely hospital time woes, have been very unsettling. It has been really amazing to be home with my family and friends. It's just odd to be pulled away from my life in Kolkata so quick. I'm still on Kolkata time. I don't go to sleep at night until I know all the Prem Dan volunteers are on their chai break. I wake up in the morning thinking about who's hanging out on the roof Hotel Maria as the sun finally goes away after a long day in the smoggy, sweaty heat.

There have been very loud reminders of why it is best that I am here at home. My first week back I got news that a friend of mine from high school had died in an accident on the Oregon Coast. Sokhak is an amazingly vibrant, loud, insane friend. His memorial service was absolutely absurd--exactly as Sokhak would have liked it. A Portland bar was filled with his open mic poet and musician friends (covered in tattoos and dripping in dreadlocks) alongside Hillsboro's cleanest and sweetest suburban families. The event was very sad, but I felt like there was this feeling in the room of joy and thankfulness at the same time. Everyone was happy to have an impromptu high school reunion and the message that rang loud as people went on the stage was one of loving life aggressively and passionately just like Sokhak. Sokhak worked a lot in community development and was someone I was friends with from day 1 freshmen year of high school. His next tattoo was going to read, "Yay, life!" He was weird and crazy and I'm so sad he's gone. It was nice to be able to introduce Ben to a lot of my high school friends and I'm glad I was home to be at the service. The whole thing made for an interesting first week back.

And now it is the end of week two in America, capped off with a horribly tragic terrorist attack in India and...Thanksgiving. When I first heard about the attacks in Mumbai I was most certainly in disbelief. I sat and stared at my computer screen, more specifically at the words 'targeted at tourists.' I didn't have plans to travel anywhere near Mumbai, nor have I heard of any of my volunteer friends being near there now, but nonetheless the news shook me. I stayed up all night watching live news on the bombings. Oh, and there are protesters at the Bangkok airport I was suppose to fly out of in a couple weeks. Gosh. I am glad to be home... but, it's hard not to feel weird eating a turkey dinner when catastrophic events are unfolding elsewhere in the world. Part of me just wishes I was somewhere that cared a little bit more about these issues, somewhere that didn't put stories of the attacks on page four behind the Black Friday shopping ads and Rose Bowl predictions.

I'm thankful for family, friends (old and new), overprotective doctors, a boy we all called Silk, artistic people, stuffing, milk from cows, peaceful democratic protests, cousins to stay up late with watching bad B movies, warm socks, canned cranberry sauce, hostages that were released and my dog.