Speaking of...
The wall opening went really well. There was a reporter there and both my picture and a picture of the wall is in the local paper. In the article, I am refered to by a rather archaic Russian word that means "great giver of things". I suppose the less-literal translation would be "philanthrapist", but who's checking?
Speaking of giving things, I've been given a lot more responsibility. My coordinator has been in and out of the hospital for blood pressure problems and I've had to take all her seminars--which meant a lot of candles burnt at both ends trying to keep up. I now teach 16 out of the 20 seminars we teach in a cycle. It used to be I was kind of a "guest lecturer" teaching a seminar maybe once a week. Now I pretty much live at the institute and teach every major class. I'm proud but exhausted.
Then I was hit with the news that my coordinator may die. I came in and found the women in my department upset, tearfully asking about my coordinator and telling me she has "kor". I didn't know what "kor" was, but I genuinely worried and moped around all day. The next day, they were still going on about my coordinator's kor. "Tell me the symptoms," I said in Russian. And when they did, it sounded suspiciously like chicken pox. "Chicken pox is not serious," I told them in Russian. "Not for children," one replied "but for adults. So dangerous! Poor Irina." I told Diana about it, and, after laughing a lot, she said: "It is chicken pox. This is the usual Ukranian old woman response." Apparently you can sneeze in Ukraine and old women will crow that you are on your death bed.
Speaking of death, Avian flu has crossed into Ukraine. They're culling birds in the south and volunteers have been moved out of the affected regions. We all recieved flu shots, even thought it doesn't protect against Avian flu.
Speaking of shots, I've been giving Diana them in her ass. Diana needed antibiotics for an infection and, while I'm sure they have oral antibiotics in Ukraine, apparently they're not common. What is common is a process that reminded me of medivel alchemists. Pulling out a vial of powder and a vial of liquid, Diana mixed the two, drew the concoction into a syringe and handed it to me. I looked at it a moment and said, "Okay, how do I do this?" which caused Diana to look at me in a wide-eyed mix of horror and shock.
"You said you knew how to do it."
"No, you asked if I WOULD do it and I said yes. I never said I had."
"How could you not have learned how to do it?"
"We don't do this in America. We take pills. You're telling me every Ukranian knows how to do this?"
"We learned to do it in grade school."
"What did you practice on?"
"Pillows."
So after showing me how to do it, I did it and she walked around with a sore ass. That's how archaic Ukranian medicine can be.
Speaking of archaic medicine in Ukraine, I had to have an EKG. This prompted my first visit to a Ukranian hosptial, which, if you're used to shiny, new, disinfected places, can be a bit of a shock. A nurse rubbed a slimy gel on my torso and used suction cups to attach electrodes made in the 1950s running to a machine made in the 1970s. Two electrodes were clipped to my wrists and two to my ankles. They then had me lie, stand and do squats.
It confirmed what I had thought: I have an irregular heartbeat. But apparently, and the Peace Corps doctors confirmed it, it's not a dangerous type of irregular beat. So nobody worry. Especially you, mom.
And speaking of moms, mine popped me out (in 17 hours of agony, as is oft-reported) almost 27 years ago, my birthday being this Friday. I'm on the fast track to 30 years-old, but that's a really surreal thought because I'm mentally stuck at 22--if that. The anticipation of my birthday, though, is eclipsed by the anticipation that I'll be going home to see my mom on Teusday. Yes, I will be home in America Dec 20-Jan 10th.
America, watch out.