Remedies.

When I had the good fortune to stay home sick from school as a wee lass, the day was spent curled up on a worn in brown leather couch watching reruns of television shows whose time ended decades before I was even a twinkle in my Daddy’s eye. Gomer Pyle was a staple, M.A.S.H. always creeped me out, and Bonanza! was the most anticipated thirty minutes of the morning. For all the rugged frontier wisdom of Billy Joe, Hos, and the other members of Bonanza’s cast, I do remember doubting their knowledge in the realm of health care. Every so often Hos would encounter a raven-haired damsel in a good deal of distress, having been caught out in a chilly spring rain. Hos and his comrades would invite said damsel into the lodge and warm her up with blankets and tea, fending off the possible onset of pneumonia. I remember thinking them naïve, dated, uneducated, because Hos, darling, we all know illness comes as a result of bacteria, viruses, and general genetic unluckiness.

Many years later, Im learning that Hos may have been right. I have been coughing for nearly a month. It seems that sleeping out in the cold and rain with the corn, while one of my better ideas socially, has left me physically depleted. As we warmed ourselves by the fire during our chilly vigil, the women remarked that we would all certainly be knocked down with colds and flus as a result of the elements. So much of what I had learned over the years, both through experience and in the classroom, had taught me that getting stuck in the rain wouldn’t lead to illness. Rainstorms with and without indoor heating, however, are very different creatures. As the women predicted, soon a cough set in, each day sinking deeper and deeper into my chest. With no way to escape the cold, it quickly morphed into something ugly.

Despite the PCs complete health care coverage, I remained reluctant to see a doctor. Not for its cost or any fear of the doc herself, but for avoidance of travel. Because of the indeterminate nature of Bolivian hospitals, the Peace Corps insists that any potentially serious illness be treated by one of their physicians in a regional city. Therefore, while a doc at the municipal hospital discovered bronchial-pneumonia for 10 Bs ($1.25), I was sent to Santa Cruz for finer treatment. Seven hours and 204 Bs ($28) later, a private doctor in a fancier office agreed. He prescribed the usual: antibiotics, cough syrup, lots of liquids, and for kicks, a shot in the butt. So much of Bolivian culture seems to have stepped out of the US in the 1950s, but nothing beats the strong belief in the healing power of shots in the butt. Usually the shot is purely vitamins, but due to my history of asthma, this doctor decided that only hydrocortisone would do the trick. For those of you who have never had a shot of hydrocortisone in the butt, let me put it into perspective. The previous day I had gotten a wax and a particularly enthusiastic pedicure: all smiles. This shot, however, led to screams and left me immobilized on the doctor’s table for half of an hour. I don’t know why Bolivians are so fond of the vitamin shot (“ampollo”), but be glad that it is no longer customary procedure in the US.

Partly out of fear of another ampollo and partly out of distaste for Santa Cruz, I escaped the doc and returned to Chimeo four days before he was prepared to release me. Therefore, I arrived coughing and hacking worse than I had been upon departure. Noticing my wheezing and my absence, everyone in town had a home remedy to offer. Don Mariano enthusiastically prescribed a glass of warm rubbing alcohol and lemon juice, which had to be drunk under covers and layers of sweaters so that I might sweat the illness out. Ana reported once having healed herself of a similar cough by drinking spoonfuls of warm vegetable oil. Enrique regularly treats himself with a drop of diesel fuel on the tongue.

Silvia came down with the same illness from the same week with the corn, however she did not have the ability to see a doctor. Chimeo has a health post, however we share our doctor with three other communities. After repeated failed attempts at a consultation, she went to a curandero, or doctor of traditional medicine. He prescribed spoonfuls of cod-liver oil and inhalation of the vapor of chamomile tea. This is entirely typical of health care in Chimeo. There is universal free healthcare for everyone in town, but the doctor and nurse that serve our post are frequently absent. Even when they are present, community members have little faith in their modern medicine. Some believe that the treatments are expired ones sent as a sop by the government, while others simply have more faith in traditional medicines. Like agnostics at Easter mass, Chimenos prefer to cover their bases. Most people visit the post (free) and then go to the curandero in the market (usually about 100Bs) for serious illnesses. If it is not seen as serious, an illness like a rash or a cold will be treated by a local curandero (usually Dona Josefa). Most remedies involve medicinal leaves, tobacco, massages, and alcohol. While I doubt the AMA would approve, these treatments seem to work-eventually.

While some of the home remedies and beliefs of the causes of illness (Best example: Sitting on hot rocks will give you diareah.) can be good for a laugh, the disconnect between modern and traditional medicine in Chimeo (and likely the rest of the Bolivian campo) is a serious issue. There is a great deal of useful traditional knowledge, as well as a legion of well-trained physicians backed by a government that wants to pay for them. Perhaps due to the strong support of both camps, it seems that both types of health care providers want to sell their “goods”. PCVs are literally prohibited by our modern doctors from letting our friends practice traditional medicine on us. On two occasions, however, traditional medicine has served me well. First were white grape leaves applied to my back, which stopped (or at least seemed to stop) the spread of my shingles outbreak in 2007. Second, when my gas stove exploded in my face, a neighbor quickly applied sabila, an aloe-like plant, to my burns. Everywhere she applied the cool gel healed quickly; anywhere she missed blistered terribly. If it weren’t for the sabila, today half of my face might be scarred.

This does not mean that Ill be packing away my cipro. What I would like to see is greater dialogue between providers of western and traditional medicines to take great advantage of Bolivia’s diverse resources. I have heard of some towns compiling booklets of traditional remedies, and many Chimenos have expressed interest in doing the same. This may go hand in hand with our cultural recuperation project in the future. but it will have to wait. Tomorrow I am back in Santa Cruz, waiting to see if the 1000 Bs worth of visits and treatments get my failed respiratory system back on track.

This month we will be preparing the apiaries and collecting seeds and seedlings of meliferous trees for the tree nursery. We are also preparing for a cultural fair to commemorate the anniversary of Chimeo on July 18th. On July 10th over 50 volunteers and their counterparts from Bolivia and Paraguay will converge upon Villa Montes for the 4th Encuentro Chaqueno. Over the course of three days, we will discuss what has and has not been working for volunteers in their sites throughout the chaco. It will be an opportunity to discuss new technologies and strategies, and in the end we will develop a regional strategy. Finally, thanks to all of you who have been able to donate to our apiculture project online. We are hoping to receive all the necessary funding by August, in order to have our equipment installed when the season for capturing wild hives begins. I will be getting some fotos up of our training sessions and workshops up within the next few months so that donors can see where their funds are going.