The Super Fans

Setting : There are four overweight mustachioed men wearing dark sunglasses and mullets sitting around a rectangular table at a sports bar.  They are all drinking Polar beer.  On the walls are photos of Venezuela's football team, their baseball team, Simon Bolivar, and Hugo Chavez.  Inexplicably, they all speak English with a Chicago accent.

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- "Welcome back to da Super Fans, I'm Usnavy Ramirez, and we're here live from Bolivar's Bar in Caraca.  With me as always is Bladimiro Gonzalez" (he waves), "Yerry Gomez" ("yo!"), "and Yerry's brudder Unicef Gomez" (belches).  "Yesterday, da Vinotinto beat Messi and the Argentinian football team one - zilch.  Yeah, I'm as shocked as anyone.  I mean, I was expecting at least five goals.  Whad'you think'a da match, Yerry ?"

- "Well after their loss to the Ecuadorians, I had myself anudder heart attack." (Yerry winces with pain and touches his chest)  "So with this win, I can't complain.  Unicef ?"

- "Me, I'm a-looking forward to their match next month against our neighbors, Colombia.  You guys know how much I hate those Colombians.  But the boys are lookin' strong so I expect a three - zero win."

- "Oh come on, Unicef," starts Bladimiro.  "You show those Colombianos too much respect !  My money's on five for da Vinotinto - negative one for the Colombians." And Bladimiro drains his beer.

- "And how," asks Usnavy, "would it be possible for Colombia ta get negative points, Bladimiro ?"

- "Da Vinotinto would find a way."

- "Hypot'etical match-up : da Vinotinto take on world champs Spain.  Whad'ya say Yerry ?"

- "Three to zip."

- "Bladimiro ?"

- "four - two.  The Spanish played a good game and scored two goals."

- "And Unicef ?"

- "Five - oh.  Da Vinotinto's defense is like a wall, can't go t'rough it."

- "Well said, Bladimiro.  But this isn't the first time us Venezuelans have faced the Spanish.  Remember ?  Remember when Simon Bolivar, " (He looks up at Bolivar's picture and makes the sign of the cross) "whipped about 100,000 Spanish soldiers ?  So here's another hypot'etical : Bolivar takes on the whole Spanish football team by himself."

- "Well that's easy, 17 to zero."

- "14 - three, ol' Simon shows pity on the Spanish this time."

- "36 to nothing."

- "Okay, okay, last hypot'etical for dis show : Bolivar's resurrected body against God in a baseball game.  Now remember, God's a great ball player."

- "Six - four, it was a close one."

- "Well, I'm just a-hopin' that this game does not take place on Venezuelan soil, for it would surely spawn devastatin' hurricans and continent-ripping earthquakes.  Bolivar seven, God six.  Bolivar gets a two-run homer in the ninth."

- "14 - zip."

- "Well, that's all we have time for this evening, but please join us next week when we discuss armwrestling between Chavez and Bolivar.  Goodnight !"

Flashback : Down and Out in China, part 1

Pauline and I often discuss what the next step will be.  After our tour of South America.  We both realize that plans for the future, while not being entirely futile, have a funny way of never being realized.  Somewhere between right now and "the future," a million obstacles can get in the way.  And those obstacles can be good things !  You could find a new job, new city, new love, new mission in life...all before you ever get to the future.

And on that note, I thought about one of my first big life-shifting plans...to teach in China for a year.  Well, that never happened, as most of you know.  I've told the story a hundred times, but I'm not sure if I've ever written it down.

So here's a story that didn't happen this year, and has nothing to do with South America.  It started back in December 2003, while I was traveling in Honduras and Nicaragua.

Traveling with my brothers and some friends in the winter of 2003 in Nicaragua, we were spending Christmas in a little farm next to a little village, on a volcanic island in the middle of the largest lake in the country, Lago de Nicaragua.  And on Christmas morning, five or six of us attempted to climb to the rim of the dormant volcano.  At the other end of the island lay his active brother.  Two-thirds of the way up to the muddy, steep, and switchback-lacking trail, I felt a loss of essence, as Jack D. Ripper would say.  I was suddenly short on breath and energy.  While not a mountaineer, I was certainly at home scrambling and rambling up and down and around forests, hills, or mountains.  It was at this point, just moments before my brother Christian impaled his arm on a branch while slipping on the muddy trail, that I had my first brush with the disease that would later put me in a Chinese hospital bed.  Of course, I had no idea of what was to come...

Over the next nine months, I had more and more of these energy-less bouts.  But again, I never once thought that they could be related.  I forgot about the latest moment of lethargy until I had the next.  And then the future changed.  Inspired by my brother Ian (he had taught for a year in Korea), I left my job in Florida and agreed to work for a year in China, Jiangsu Province.

My first stop was Los Angeles, where I would spend a few weeks with my friends Jess and Minh before crossing the Pacific.  In that time, we made a grand circle tour of the American West, from L.A. to Las Vegas to Aspen toWyoming to Boise to Portland and back to L.A. again.  It was during this trip that the headaches started.  And the difficulty focusing at night.  And the hiccups.  Yeah, that's right.  I started to have hiccups, every day, several times per day.  Still, I did not put two and two together.  Didn't see the connection.  Or maybe I just didn't want to miss my flight to China.

I arrived in the Shanghai airport in the afternoon where the English teacher Mr. James (he was Chinese) and the school's vice-prinicpal met me.  They had made a sign : Mr. Andre' Feldt.  It was very sweet.  Then, we all took a bus to my new home town, Huai'an.  We arrived late into the night.  I was showed my apartment.  It was a spacious place with four or five rooms plus kitchen and bathroom, but unfortunately, it was located on the, wait for it...., sixth floor !  No elevator !  That moment I had on the volcano in Nicaragua was now every morning, afternoon, and night...just to go to and from work.

On my second day, I visited a clinic for a routine check-up.  The result : there's something wrong with your liver.  Well, what is it ?  Can't say yet for sure, but the results indicate that there's something wrong with your liver.  That was the last time I heard about my liver.  My disease neither originates nor harms the liver...

For the following two months, I taught at the middle school, a mere 400 meters and six flights of stairs away.  I taught 18 classes per week with on average 60 students per class.  Let me clarify : 60 Chinese students.  In terms of discipline, that's equivalent to three Western students.  With each day, I grew weaker and weaker.  My hiccups grew stronger and more frequent.  The chalk grew heavier, and my will wanted a nap.

Usually, I ate thrice daily at the school's cafeteria.  I was very excited to try new foods, even if they were the Chinese equivalents of mystery stew and leftover mixed veggies.  They were still delicious.  But unfortunately my eyes were always bigger than my stomach.  I never finished any of my meals.  And they grew smaller and less caloric with each day.  After two months in China I was down ten kilos.  I was in bad shape.  And the worst was still to come.

So what did I do ?  Go to the hospital ?  Twenty-four years of uninsured American living had taught me better than that.  A pharmacy then ?  Where I come from, those are only for developing photos.  The airport ?  I took a trip alright.  With my friend Rob, who also taught English at the school.  We took a weekend trip to the mountain to climb a sacred mountain, Tai Shan.  Only 1,500m tall, 7,200 steps, and two hours of hiking for a fit hiker.  I was not a fit hiker.  This mountain almost killed me.  By 6,000 steps, I felt like I was on top of Everest : one step, breathe breathe breathe, one more step, breathe...  By 7,000 steps, Chinese soldiers were offering to carry me to the top.  No, no, I had far too much pride for that.  And by 7,200 steps, I had spent six hours climbing.  I had made it, and without any help.  And of all the mountains I have ever climbed in my life, this one remains the toughest, despite its short stature, steps and guardrails, and helpful Chinese soldiers.

Up on top, we found picturesque temple after picturesque temple, beautiful arch after beautiful arch, and tacky gift shop after tacky gift shop.  We arrived at 6h00 in the evening, just as the sun started to brush against the horizon and the tourists were making their way back...on foot or by cable car.  There's a cable car here ?!!!  So much unnecessary pain !  It was hard to breathe and harder to walk.  Rob wanted to explore some temples at the far end of the complex.  I mentioned that I'd like to descend with the cable car before it closed for the evening, but I was too weak to force the issue.  Besides, I wanted to see the temples, too.  So, I shuffled after Rob, and together, we admired the architecture with the sunset in the background.  And then hurried back to find the cable car empty, unmoving, and closed for the night.  Missed it by 15 minutes.  That left only one way down...and the Chinese soldiers weren't there anymore to help me.  I collapsed in despair.  It was November in northern China and the temperature dipped in sync with the sun.  I was freezing and sapped of my will to live.

While in my stupor, Rob had found us a room for the night.  The info barely registered.  I just followed him, slowly, to the building and fell on the bed where I lay half frozen, half sleeping through the night.  Fully clothed, I went to pee in the wee hours of the morning and stepped in the giant puddle that was the bathroom floor.  My thick socks soaked up every drop they could, and I walked back to bed.  I couldn't even fall back asleep.  I wanted to cry.

But sleep did come, eventually.  I awoke at first light and felt marginally better.  Rob was already up and out the door.  I sloshed my feet into my shoes to join him.  And then, when I opened the door, all the pain seemed worth it.  It had snowed all night.  The whole temple town was covered in half a foot of snow.  And better yet, it was too early for the first tourists to arrive.  The snow was untouched.  We took a few photos, and enjoyed the moment.  But as wonderful as it was, we weren't going to mill about all morning; I was in bad shape and needed to get home.  The cable car was as glorious as in my dreams...took mere minutes to return to the city.

And you can read the conclusion here : Down and Out in China, part 2

Flashback : Down and Out in China, part 2

Make sure to read part one first : Down and Out in China, part 1

Sunday night, we were back in Huai'an.  Monday morning, I was in Huai'an Hospital #1.  The nurses put me in a plastic chair in the middle of a large room.  In the room, there were 30 other plastic chairs, half of them filled with babies and their mothers.  All of the babies were crying.  Were the nurses sending me a message ?  Most of the babies had needles in their bald heads.  Some of the babies were peeing and defecating on the floor.  I had an IV drip in my arm.  I sat there for three hours, uncomfortably.  So I left.

The Chinese could see that I was not well.  "Feeble" was the word the Chinese English teachers used.  But when I stated that I suspected something serious, they just smiled a knowing smile.  "Nah, you just need to eat some meat !"  This was the most common response...the most common cure that I was suggested.  Others included "close your window to keep the miasmas away," "drink only hot water," and "you need to wear a thicker jacket."  But the best explanation that I ever received was this : "Illness is like a tiger; if you're afraid, it strikes.  If you're not afraid, it will leave you alone."  I must have been petrified.

The next day was my last day at work.  I couldn't lift the chalk, I could barely lift my own weight.  The following morning (or was it the evening ?), I was talking to my mom on the phone.  I have no memory of this conversation.  She does.  She said that after a few minutes, I told her that I was too tired to talk at that moment but that I would call back soon, and I hung up.  Just afterwards, I called up a Chinese friend (this I do remember).  He was always beating me at ping-pong, stating triumphantly : "You are not my rival !"  But he was very nice, very helpful.  He spoke to another teacher and together they took me to Huai'an Hospital #2.  I was prepared for the worst.  Fortunately, hospital numbers are not an indication of quality, because #2 was clean, modern, comfortable.  I shared a room with a Chinese patient.  Had no idea what his name or problem was.  But he was very nice.  He laughed through every second of Mr. Bean.  And he even gave me a shave when I was too weak to do it myself.  The doctors visited me often to practice their English.  The nurses visited me because I was a celebrity in #2.  I had an IV drip in my arm.  I lay there for days, comfortably.

Meanwhile, in Florida, my mother was envisioning my lying on the floor, near death, and no one around to hear my muted screams.  She called several times that day and the next, with increasing frequency.  She knew the name of my school, but couldn't speak Chinese.  So, naturally, she visited all the Chinese restaurants in town, asking if they could make the call...but, unfortunately, they only spoke Cantonese, not Mandarin.  Next she asked my brother Christian if he knew any Chinese people.  My brother studied engineering so he must know a few.  Yeah, he knew a few Chinese.  But none that spoke Mandarin.  The next day, she got word that a friend of my brother's advisor spoke Mandarin.  Success !  So he called my school, and got the number of #2.  And then made a phone date rendez-vous for my mother and me.  On my third day at hospital #2, my mom called.  I'm pretty sure that if she hadn't found a Mandarin speaker, she would have learned enough of the language to make the call herself.  Yeah, that's right, she's a superhero.  I remember feeling happy to speak with her, and being positive about my stay in #2.  I had walked for 100 meters that day and thought those few meters were the beginning of the road to recovery.  But she urged me to get out of China.  She was scared, too.  Maybe my "tiger illness" was contagious ?

The next day, the doctors came in with a diagnosis to prove my mother right.  "You have," wait for it..wait for it, "stomach flu"...dun dun dun !  At that moment, I knew that death awaited me if I stayed.  So I gave Rob my credit card and asked him to buy me the first available ticket for the next available flight to Stockholm.  And I left the hospital in the morning.  During the day, I packed my bags, vomited, said goodbye to my soon-to-be ex-colleagues, vomited again, and went to bed.  Early in the morning, Rob and I were driven to Nanjing airport.  We said our goodbyes, and airport staff rolled me to the plane, where I sat uncomfortably for several hours before arriving in Beijing to change planes. 

The doors opened.  I waited for the other passengers to leave first.  I was as mobile as my 99-year-old grandmother is today.  That is to say, she can walk, short distances, but needs to hold on to firm objects for support.  When the coast was clear, I stood hesitantly, and made my way to the door.  I looked around.  And again.  And saw no wheelchair.  Well, this could be troublesome.  I only had an hour to make my new flight.  No time to consider "what-ifs"; I started walking.  I walked 100 meters.  200 meters, breaking my record at hospital #2.  300 meters, my concentration and strength waned.  400 meters and I was getting dizzy.  And then I fell with a crash.  I looked around.  And again.  And I waited.  I saw a bunch of Chinese people walking around me like some wind around a Bernoullian wing.  And no one stopped.  Well, no time to consider "what-ifs"; I started crawling.  Intensity of a soldier, motor skills of a three-month-old.  After an eternity, and some burning elbows, I arrived at a horizontal escalator.  And I rode it, horizontally.  At the far end, I found an airport info kiosk.  "I need help," I asked.  "I need to get to my flight."  She called the airport clinic.  They brought the airport gurney and took me to the clinic.  There, the doctor, who spoke English, plainly stated that I would not be allowed on the plane.  "Bu-bu-but I ha-ha-have to get on that pl-pl-plane," I stammered.  I said that I would sign any document necessary to get me on the plane...and sign I did !

So they whisked me away straight to the plane, no lines, no waiting, only cursory glances at my papers.  The flight attendant took one look at my condition and asked the neighbors to change their seats.  At least, that's how I imagined it.  Could very well have been the neighbors who asked to distance themselves from me.  Anyway, within minutes I was sound asleep and didn't wake again 'til our arrival at Arlanda airport outside of Stockholm.  When I stepped off the plane I was relieved to see airport staff with an empty wheelchair...for me !  My dad waited for me inside, and we immediately went to the hospital to deliver my bodily fluids for testing.

The next day, we came back and several doctors interviewed me.  The 2nd or 3rd one made a very important observation; he said that, as a Swede, I shouldn't have such dark skin.  Dark blotches on my face and back were one of the symptoms of my disease.  And then on a hunch, he checked the cortisol levels of my blood.  Not so much as a nanogram, it was untraceable.  And then he knew.  I had Addison's disease, which is an auto-immune disease whereby my immune system attacked my adrenal glands, and for no good reason !  And all my cortisol- and aldosterone-producing cells were killed off.  Good thing I got to the hospital in Sweden, 'cause accorinding to the doctor, I was down to my last week or two of life.  So I spent the next five days in the hospital, with an IV drip in both arms, pumping in toxic levels of those hormones.  After two days, I could eat and walk.  After three, I could bathe.  After five, I was new again, and so I left the hospital, and lived in Sweden for the next two years where I learned Swedish and got to know my grandmother.  The only lasting effects of my experiences in China and with my disease are my deep gratitude towards Rob, a need to take pills daily, and one kick-ass story.

69

Since leaving the Andes for the hot plains and coast, Pauline and I have developed a little ritual that we do right before going to sleep.  She turns around so that her head lies near my feet and vice-versa.  And she starts to massage and rub.

- “Oh, yeah.  Oh, that’s good.”

- “Do it to me, too,” she insists.  “Right there, don’t stop, aaahhwwwww.”

- “Harder, baby, harder !”

- “The other side, on the other side.”  She’s frantic.  “And use your nails !”

- “Scratch harder !”  I’m in ecstasy and agony at the same time.  “There’re a few more bites on my heel, don’t forget those.” 

This goes on for about 15 or 20 minutes, and when all the bug bites are red, swollen, and numb, we finally doze off to sleep...and dream bug-less dreams.