“FML,” I whisper under my breath as I unbutton my jeans and turn to expose my bare ass to the nurse.

“Are you ready Theresa,” she asks with syrup in her voice as I look away and try to shut out the intense smell of rubbing alcohol. She doesn’t give me time to answer before a loaded syringe plunges deep into my right butt cheek. I inhale sharply and grasp at the bed. She hears my involuntary moan and apologizes for nicking a nerve.

The chipper tone in her voice continues as she tells me that the drug floating through the fat cells in my rear end should help take care of the nausea so that I can keep food down. She explains that it is such an effective anti-nausea drug that they prescribe it to chemo patients. I grit my teeth and arrange my lips in a tight smile. She has no idea that just over a year ago I was one of those patients. If only I had known this might happen, I could have brought some of the drugs I stockpiled during my 18 months as a patient instead of having to invest in the South African assortment shown here.

Some of my fellow volunteers came to South Africa in search of adventure. They bungee jumped, zip-lined, and dove in cages with sharks. Not me. Instead, I came to the other side of the world to:

• throw up for the first time in 20 years (even chemo couldn’t break my no-barfing streak);
• visit an Emergency Room on a busy Friday night with a fever of 102*/39* that no amount of Tylenol would bring down;
• pee into a tupperware container (it looked like it should have held a potato salad from Whole Foods in it);
• get hooked up to an IV and watch a clear fluid drip out of a glass bottle (WTF?) and into my waiting vein;
• spurt blood all over the ER bed because the nurse didn’t apply enough pressure to seal the hole left by the removed IV tube. (I had an out-of-body moment when I looked down and wondered how my hospital gown had blood on it before I realized the source);
• become so well known at the local clinic that the receptionists now pull my file and say “you’re back” as soon as they see me.

At least my experience has been unique! How many people can say that they went to a brand new country and got to meet three doctors, visit the clinic four times, and rush to the Emergency Room of a private hospital, all within the span of a week (fingers crossed that my insurance will cover my adventures)? Some of the things that I have learned about the South African health care system will shock you, but that is another post.

The good news is that the doctors have finally diagnosed me with a bacteria infection which I probably picked up from cleaning up the little boy at my placement. Even after the week I have had, I still wouldn’t change a thing about that day.

I can’t believe that on Friday I will have to say goodbye to him and all of the other children who have stolen such a big piece of my heart. The lump in my throat multiplies every time I think about it. I did not expect to crash so deeply into love in such a short time.

I am sure the tears that afternoon will make it too difficult to type…but I promise to share my last day with you, as soon as my eyes dry for long enough for me to see the screen.