Ah, Parasites...

Parasites are a fact of life. We all entertain them hosting their existence mostly without any knowledge of that fact. The reason for our ignorant bliss relies on the fact that our bodies have become accustomed to hosting the parasites common to the areas in which we live. This all changes whenever a person travels to a foreign country because the parasites indigenous to these new areas make themselves forcefully apparent to whomever is unlucky enough to ingest them. So, while we were in Honduras, we were schooled in the ways of these parasites and learned how to avoid the unfortunate consequences that they could impose on our health and our work.

They were a serious enough health issue that there were scores of missionaries dedicated to the sole task of reducing the infant mortality rate in Honduras by teaching families about these parasites and other health practices which would decrease illness in those most vulnerable...the children. I don't know what the official infant mortality rate in Honduras was at the time I served there, but is was very high. Amoebic dysentery was one of the main culprits. Symptoms included diarrhea, nausea, chronic dehydration, loss of appetite, stomach cramps, general loss of energy and often became severe enough in infants to become life threatening.

Missionaries, like babies, were new to these little critters and so were subject to the same nasty symptoms which manifest themselves in the infants of Honduras. But, although the results of a parasitic infection were very unpleasant, they were rarely life threatening in an adult.

I became infected a few times on my mission and once the symptoms set in, they were unpleasant enough that I would immediately seek the medical attention I needed to rid myself of the parasites I had acquired. Generally this meant a stool test to determine which particular variety (or varieties) of parasites were causing the problem followed by a regimen of taking pills every day for a period of time until the parasites were eliminated and the symptoms they had caused had been eradicated.

Most of the parasitic infections were the result of drinking untreated water and so part of the instructions each missionary would give to the person who prepared any meals for them would be that the water always had to be brought to a rolling boil before it could be served to them at meal time. Most of the time, this rule was observed, but there were times when, perhaps time was short that it was undoubtedly overlooked and such an omission usually resulted in an infection.

As missionaries, outside the house we would only drink sodas. I know this isn't a very healthy practice, but it was preferable to getting an amoebic infection and so we were very strict about this when we were out. There were also times when we were offered lemonade or some other beverage which had been prepared at home and we would always ask if the water had been boiled before preparing the drink explaining what could happen to us if it hadn't and we found that most of the time it hadn't been boiled. It simply wasn't a problem for most of the native people of Honduras like it was for us. So, it was kind of risky to accept drinks like this but when the people said that the water had been boiled, in an attempt to be gracious we would accept at their word and take the drink. And sometimes we would get sick and sometimes, we wouldn't. But the symptoms were always severe enough that this was constantly on our mind.

I stated earlier that the symptoms of a parasitic infection were rarely life threatening to adults, but there was one time when I got so sick that I began to wonder. I went to the doctor and did the usual tests, but this time the anticipated cure was not prescribed. The doctor couldn't diagnose what was wrong with me and, therefore did not prescribe anything. I was in an area called Utila which is one of Honduras' Bay Islands, and the medical facilities were very limited.

I loved being on Utila. It was the most beautiful place I had ever lived and I didn't want to leave. It was a picture postcard perfect paradise with white sand beaches and beautiful crystal clear waters. I knew that if I reported my illness to the mission president that I risked being transferred back to mainland Honduras where the medical facilities were better. And although the scenery was pretty good there too, in my mind it couldn't compare with my little island, so I didn't mention my problems in the reports we sent back to the mission office. I figured that I would ultimately be okay if I simply toughed through and ignored the symptoms I was experiencing.

However, I quickly became so nauseous that I couldn't eat and just thinking about food made me queasy. I had grossly underestimated the severity of my infection. I knew that dehydration was my greatest concern so I would sip water slowly all day long to keep up my fluids. Even drinking water became difficult and hard to keep down but I persisted and was successful in keeping myself hydrated. After two weeks of not eating anything and living on a water only diet, I had lost a lot of weight. By now, even my companion began to worry about me which was kind of out of character for him. He just always expected me to soldier on no matter how hard it was.

Our cook had taken a two week vacation to the mainland just as my symptoms began to set in and so was unaware of what was happening with me until she got back. When she saw me for the first time after returning she took one look at me and instantly knew what was wrong with me. She took me in one hand and grabbed a machete with the other and off she drug me out into the bush about a half mile into the interior of the island until she found a particular kind of tree that she was looking for. She then hacked into the bark of that tree with her machete and filled a spoon she pulled from her apron pocket with the white milky sap which flowed out of the wound she had inflicted on the tree and told me to swallow all of it. She then filled the spoon again and I swallowed again.

I was sort of relieved that the machete was used on the tree and not on me. I sort of half jokingly wondered in my mind if she was dragging me out into the bush to put me out of my misery. I continued this regimen every morning and evening for a couple of weeks and after that time began again to regain my appetite.

During the time I was sick, four to five weeks passed before I could eat any solid food again and during this time I lost 45 pounds. This woman probably saved my life and I'm truly grateful that she knew what to do for me. Sometimes the Lord places people in our lives to protect us despite our own best efforts to the contrary. It was truly dumb not to let someone know how sick I had become so I could get a more timely response to my medical needs. But, I survived...just barely. Being careless with parasites in Honduras can be a great weight loss program, but the costs are probably a little steeper than most people are willing to pay.

I never regained the weight I lost at this time throughout the rest of my mission and wouldn't until some time had passed after returning home. Soon afterwards, my mission president and his wife visited the island and saw me for the first time since my illness, and the mission president's wife panicked at the sight of me and applied considerable pressure to her husband to have me transferred off the island to a place more suitable...where an Elder in my condition could be more closely monitored and cared for.

I resisted and tried to get them to relent, but when it was time for the next set of transfers, my name was on the list and I was transferred to Choluteca, a place in the southern most parts of  mainland Honduras just north of the Nicaraguan border, a place which was extremely hot. The heat of that place alone was probably enough to ensure that I didn't gain back any of the weight I'd lost, but coupling the heat with the large amount of work we performed there, it was virtually impossible.

And so, when I finally did return home to my parents, when my mother saw me for the first time, she cried, not as I had initially supposed out of the joy of having her son back home again, but, as I found out later from her, because of how skinny and frail I looked when I she saw me that day. I had become accustomed to my new condition and I didn't feel frail, but I returned home in the dead of winter and the first time it snowed after having returned, I went out to push snow off of the driveway, and I was unable to do it without help. I guess I really was a little more frail than a man my age should have been and it was a little embarrassing.

That day I went indoors and took a long slow look in the mirror and for the first time I fully realized just how skinny I had become. I started going to the gym to try and put some weight back on so I would never have to ask anyone for help again when it snowed. Now, I still go to the gym but am on the opposite side of the spectrum and go there to keep the weight off rather than put it on.