Barfing in Baja

A couple of weeks ago I got to accompany my father on one of his business trips. I know that volunteering to go on a business trip isn't a typical choice for one's summer break, but this one was a week-long off-road racing expedition through the Baja Peninsula in Mexico. Seriously, the ability to buy fresh tortillas was persuasion enough for me to go, let alone that I would get to do some hard-core off-roading and spend quality time with the papa.

Needless to say, I was totally out of my element. My knowledge of cars extends to shifting gears and changing tires. My knowledge of racing...well... Luckily I didn't have to say much. Most of the time I just stood silently next to my dad while he talked about cars for hours. and hours. The whole ordeal was rather enjoyable. I like learning new languages, so I spent a significant time in immersion training learning how to speak Truck and Racing. Still, I comprehend better than I speak it. And when I was tired of immersion training I would go take pictures of the ocean. It was a win-win vacae.

The most colorful part of the trip was on our first day of pre-running. We drove over the entire ~440 miles of the course to make note of rough spots and danger zones. My dad warned me that I may want to take some preventative motion-sickness medicine before we hit the trails, but in stubborn self-sufficiency I insisted that I'd be fine. I mean, I've always prided myself on my tough stomach. I can eat anything (esp. inordinate amounts of sugar) without breaking a sweat, and I don't get motion-sick. I spent three months living on a ship and was fine. Some bumps and turns in a Hummer would be no problem. Yeah. I barfed 4 times before 9:30am. Seriously, it was pathetic. My dad, who was driving, eventually stopped pulling over for me. We got into a routine where I, limply belted to my seat with garbage bag in hand, would just hold the bag up to my face and heave. Dad would slow down so that the bumps in the road wouldn't send my bag contents flying, and I would reproduce my granola bar, my water, my water, and finally my nothing. Then he would stop so I could swish out my mouth, spit out the open passenger door, and reposition myself for the next gastrointestinal show.

Finally we stopped to refuel in Independencia, a barely-town that sold gasoline out of Sunny-D containers. In broken Spanish and hand motions I explained to the Sunny-D lady my pressing need for car-sickness medication, and she directed me to a small convenience store where she bought some earlier that week. Well, apparently she bought all of it earlier that week, because tienda #1 was out of stock. Providentially, the other store in town had some dramamine. The clerk opened up the package and counted out 8 tablets (waste not, want not) and consequently saved my life. I downed a double-dose and promptly passed out for the next two hours on the trail. Well, the phrase"passed out" might not properly illustrate the scene; "unconsciously flailed about wildly and uncontrollably restrained only by my belt for the next two hours" might me a more accurate depiction. After I rejoined the land of the living, I was FINE. Like, no more tossing cookies, totally enjoyed the ride. Which means that dramamine is my new favorite miracle drug. Placebo or not, that stuff kept my stomach contents locked away where they belong.

Even though the whole puking ordeal only took about 2.5 hours, various members of the racing team made sure to make fun of me for the rest of the week. But at least that gave us something to talk about.

Here are some pictures from Baja (barfing pictures not included):

Baja 500

an update on Betty. wow.

Sometimes getting woken up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning is awesome.

Just a half an hour ago I was lying in bed, pondering life (okay, so technically I was already awake. sad, I know) when my cell phone rang. I hopped out of bed and picked it up. It was Betty.

Betty was my second adopted patient on board the Africa Mercy. (see my post about Betty) She was a 21 year old girl in for a VVF repair (see my post about VVF) who had been leaking for 3 years. Before Betty had left the ship we exchanged phone numbers. I told her I would call her after I got back to the US. But since as many of you know I am in the running for World's Wort Pen Pal, I haven't called her yet.

Well, this morning Betty called me. It took me a while to realize who was on the other end when I picked up, but once I recognized her voice I couldn't contain my excitement. I asked her how her surgery went, and she responded "If you call me back I will tell you." (smart girl) So I rephrased the question, saying "Betty, are you dry??" (meaning, 'was your surgery successful?'), she promptly replied "Yyyyessss!", and we both said "PRAISE GOD!"

See, I had told her last October that she should call me after she had her third-attempt VVF repair so that she could tell me she was dry and I could say "Praise God!" with her.

Amazing.

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Isaiah 35
Joy of the Redeemed
The desert and the parched land will be glad;
the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the LORD,
the splendor of our God.

Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;
say to those with fearful hearts,
"Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
he will come to save you."

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
and the ears of the deaf unstopped.
Then will the lame leap like a deer,
and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
and streams in the desert.
The burning sand will become a pool,
the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.
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and the ransomed of the LORD will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

nicknamed. the saga continues.

So I was back at youth night tonight. Half the kids are still calling me chronic. The others are trying to get me to adopt a new nickname: "Dody." Having learned my lesson, I refused their Dody advances. After our meeting, Booboo pried "whyyyyy won't you let us call you dody??" I told her I'd tell her next week. I knew that I needed to look up the term on urbandictionary.com, my new favorite online resource.

Just as I suspected:
1. dody: weed; marajuana; pot; lye
i.e. where da dody at?
pass dat dody.
wanna buy sum dody?
2. dody: a show of extreme slowness in mental capacity.
i.e. how dody is that...?


Herein lies the dilemma: the kids refuse to call me Marla, they have rejected all of my pre-approved suggestions, and all of their names ideas are actually illegal substances. Does anyone have any suggestions? They've already shot-down the following:

1. Marz Barz
2. Mar
3. Doc
4. Stumpie
5. stumpAH (actually, when I mentioned this one they all started to laugh and said "no! that sounds like a white rapper's name!" I bit my tongue.)

Any/all ideas are welcomed. Please run your suggestions through urbandictionary.com to screen for drug and/or sexually explicit references.

Chronic

So I've started helping out with the jr/sr high youth group at my church in South Phoenix. Tonight was my second time, and I'm still trying to get 'in' with the kids. Upon hanging out with a bunch of the kids who happen to be nick-named after popular candies, 'Skittles' told me that I was not allowed to be named Marz Barz because that's a chocolate name and I'm not black. Instead they dubbed me "Chronic" allegedly after an energy drink.

I later learned that chronic is a slang term for pot.

Dr. Marla?

I have a little news to share (that most blog-readers probably already know)... I'm going to medical school next year!!! That's right. Bring on the late nights and the pj pants. Bring on the cottage cheese and cereal dinners. Bring on the extra-curriculars and the spring breaks. I'm in for 4 more years!

Really, I feel soooo undeserving and thankful to have been given this opportunity. The premed process has been arduous, and I'd be lying if I said there weren't times I second-guessed my desired future. Some of you may remember that I became quite interested in studying clinical engineering as an alternative career choice after serving as a biomedical technician on the Africa Mercy. But these days I'm feeling confident about my decision to go to med school in the fall. I had been thinking and praying about med school and clinical engineering a lot over the last few months, and it seems that both are options that would allow me to glorify God (top priority), and I think I would really enjoy both (also very important). A downside of clinical engineering is that it doesn't quite offer the patient interaction that medicine does. When I first got back from the Africa Mercy I really just wanted to get back to the international missions field asap, because it was so clear in my mind how much need there is, and clinical engineering was appealing because it would allow me to get back to the field sooner. But now that I'm 3 months removed from the post-ship buzz, in the long run I don't mind that I'll be in training for 4-7 more years before I can really throw myself out there. I figure that in our fallen, pre-second coming world, the need will always be there. I've also realized over the last few months that I really miss school! In Jan/Feb I took an engineering class at a near-by community college (had to withdraw from the class once I started working again), and I loved it. I'm really excited about being in classes again. Please remind me how much I love school when I'm studying for my boards and ready to pull my hair out.

OH, and I almost forgot to share where I'll be going: The University of Arizona!!!! This has been my top choice for several years now, so I'm tickled. The school colors are red and blue, which conveniently correspond to the colors of my alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania.
GO WILDCATS!

London

...and here are some of my London pictures. again, about 2 months overdue.

London

I decided to extent my stopover in London to 3 days, since I'd never been to England before and don't know when my next opportunity will be. Tim, the boyfriend of my dear friend Ruth, very kindly picked me up from the Airport at 1:30am and let me crash at his flat in Roehampton. Outfitted with Tim's extra mobile and a map of London, I set off into the city the next morning. I did a lot of wandering, a favorite pastime of mine, and I was able to meet up with a few friends in the city. The trip was a great time of relaxation and introspection, and I think it helped ease my adjustment back into life in the good ol' USofA.

The Canary Islands

...here are some photos from the Canary Islands. They're about two months overdue, but that's how I roll these days...

Gran Canaria

After our outreach in Liberia, the crew of the Africa Mercy set sail for the Canary Islands. The ship spent a couple of months in the islands over the holidays so that it could be repaired and prepared for its next 10-month expedition. I was able to enjoy 5 days in this European vacation hot-spot with my fellow crew members. It was a special experience to re-enter Western society with other Mercy Shippers. Together we were able to freely gawk at the paved roads, the order, the variety of food, the electricity, etc.