Malnutrition and other things Tricia combats (no, Tricia isn't malnurished, but her village children are)

--------------Naomi (an orphan) and I at the PD Hearth Program

Malnutrition. Definition: lack of proper nutrition, caused by not having enough to eat, not eating enough of the right things, or being unable to use the food that one does eat. A few months ago, I took three influential people from Jumbo to a workshop about the Positive Deviant (or “PD”) Hearth program. The program focuses on finding basic nutrition in the locally available foods and using it to make children healthier. The positive deviant portion of the program seeks out mothers who are doing a good job nourishing their children. This is my favorite part of the program! The PD mother gets to share with women how they are raising well-nourished children and caring for their children using the same resources available to everyone in the community. How do we find these PD mothers? We have a massive baby weighing! 145 children, all 5 years of age and under, came to the weighing; I was happy with the turnout. With the master Excel skills of Kris, I was able to plot out all of the children on a weight vs. age chart. With some basic math skills, we were then able to calculate the percentage of children in our village who are a healthy weight! Drum roll please… 6%. That leaves 60% low weight, 27% underweight and 7% severely underweight.

What can be done about this? There are several strategies that can be brought forth during the course of the program. The first: family planning! With couples averaging 7 children (and multiple-wife households around 10-15 children), there needs to be a lot of food to go around. Second: education (especially girls and women)! If children are educated, they grow into educated adults who make informed decisions (i.e. how many children do we want and when), and are more knowledgeable about resources available to them (i.e. food that is most nutrient rich). Third: Moringa trees! Also called, “the Miracle Tree,” a single serving of fresh Moringa leaves contains 4 times more calcium than milk, 7 times more vitamin C than oranges, 4 times more potassium than bananas, 4 times more Vitamin A than carrots, and 2 times more protein than yogurt. Unfortunately, goats really like Moringa too; they must sense its nutritional worth and try to bridge their own nutritional gap (nobody feeds them). Finally: have the white lady give money so that you can buy candy and soda and a TV! Okay, maybe that last one isn’t something I think would help.

Here’s what I already do to combat malnutrition in my village. I attend Jumbo’s monthly baby weighings. If I show up, more mothers tend to bring their children (white power—the good kind). At the weighings, I plot each child’s weight on their weight vs. age chart. If the child falls into the severely underweight class I write their name down. I then make a house call to see the child’s home environment. Are there 20 naked children running around eating anything off the ground, moving or otherwise? I talk to the parents and explain why I’m invading their home, and they bring me a chair (white power again). I ask for the child who’s name is in my book, and they bring me the child so I can give them a good look. Numbers aren’t everything, sometimes the child appears mostly healthy, maybe skinny, but maybe just small-framed. Sometimes the child has brown brittle hair, wrinkly skin falling off their bodies and distant uninterested eyes. I describe the last feature as listless, one of the more concerning signs of malnutrition (in my opinion). At this point, the child has either attached itself to my leg or is crying from all the attention. I then talk with the parents about what they farm… not if they farm, unnecessary question in this village. From the list of foods they farm, I point out the ones that that particular child should eat more of, and what they could use less of. We discuss what the child likes to eat and their usual scenario of eating, i.e. shared bowl with 6 bigger siblings, only likes the starchy foods, eats a little then complains of stomach pain… I give them some ideas of how they can get the child to a healthier nutritional status and encourage them to keep trying. I then move to the next house. Generally, I write down about 10 names from each baby weighing, I don’t write down repeats (once I’ve talked to them I only check in with them when they heed my advice and come to the next month’s baby weighing, or if I’m particularly concerned I just star the name and revisit as necessary). I also try to write down at least 1 well-nourished child from each weighing and visit them too, to give them a verbal high five.

In addition, I recently submitted a grant to help pay for bamboo I want to use for fencing. Each clan (there are 12 in Jumbo) would create a fence with the bamboo, near their homes instead of at farm. After the fence is complete, I plan to have them each plant 30-40 Moringa trees in the garden. I’ve already mentioned the benefits of Moringa. If I am successful and the women start using Moringa in their stews and soups, Jumbo will produce massive kids that could give obese American children a run for their money… well, maybe not, these kids do a little more physical activity than American children. In any case, they will be healthier, and parents would have no excuse not to use it, as it is costing them almost no money.

Also, pretty much from day one I have been working to get a small clinic in the village. We’ve completed the work required of the village for getting the clinic and nurse in Jumbo. Very soon I’ll have a nurse to collaborate with on the matter of malnutrition, and I can’t wait! Along with helping reduce malnutrition rates, we’ll have more women utilize family planning methods available at the clinic, and reduce the severe cases and deaths related to malaria and other easily treatable diseases.

May 28th I finished my first PD Hearth Program. Most villages do the program about two times to capture the most malnourished children; unfortunately, I’ll need to do it at least 5 times to reach the most severely underweight children in Jumbo. The program is a nutrition-focused cooking program, lasts for 12 mornings and enrolls 12-15 children (this group included 12 mothers). Each morning mothers of the children selected are shown a nutritious meal to cook, using protein rich food such as ground soya beans, peanuts, fish and Moringa. Then they cook it and feed it to their children. The left-over food is sent home and fed to the child throughout the day.

Our 1st PD with a girl 4 days older than him

Fufu and palmnut soup!

A busy day @ the clinic, baby weighing + PD Hearth Program

Another morning of nutritious food @ Hearth

This first two-week program went well, especially for it being my first try! Most of the women came on most days (I have some ideas for improving attendance in the future). The kids ALL ate the food, and liked it too! Not one child in the group lost weight. Rather, three maintained their weight from the first day and the rest all gained some weight! The child who gained the most weight gained 7.6% of his body weight!! (You try that in 12 days!) In 2 weeks we’ll weigh these children again to check if the mothers are still doing what they’ve learned in the programs while at home.

This is Nakoja, he gained 7.6% of his body weight & was out “biggest gainer”

Tomorrow I’ll start with a second group, this time with 13 children and their mothers. The PD (positive deviant) for the group is a 3.5 year-old girl born into a farming family. As farming is the most common occupation for people living in Jumbo, I was excited to hear how this ordinary (read: very poor) family was able to keep this young girl so well nourished. Their secret? Moringa leaves in her food at least once a day! I’ve been trying to push moringa at any opportunity (baby weighings, community meetings, nonchalant conversation). If I would have been smarter, I would have “planted” this type of mother into conversation much earlier. Regardless, I was given a real-world example of what moringa can do for a child’s nutritional status. The other women in the program are now very excited about moringa, so I told them all to go home and nag their husbands about working a small plot of land so they can use my funding for bamboo to have a moringa garden of their own!This is Jagri, she's the PD for our 2nd group, a very healthy little girl!!

In other news, Kris and I are getting excited about our vacation to the US in less than 2 months! Cheeseburgers…mmm… The rains have arrived, so it’s now cooler, but also more humid, muddy and, well, wet! We no longer have to rely on fetching and pumping our water; we instead collect rainwater from the roof. We are also preparing for a youth camp in June. We are also getting ready host some brand new (less than 7 days in country) Peace Corps Trainees (PCTs). One or two of these PCTs will venture on their own from Accra to our village to see what life is like for a PCV in Ghana. I can’t wait to share insight and advice with the PCTs to help them transition to their new life in Ghana as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Sometime in June I’m co-leading a project that is loosely based on “Take Our Daughter to Work Day.” We’ll take some girls from my village to a bigger town to see women with occupations other than farming. Its intent is to provide girls with positive role models, encourage them to stay in school and to strive for their dreams. We’re also getting ready to say goodbye to PCVs who finish their service starting in July. I guess this will officially make us the “old group.” We’re at the one year mark in our service and can hardly believe how fast the time has gone. A year from now we’ll be busy planning our reentry to life in the U.S. We miss you all, thanks for all your continued prayers, thoughts and support!

Nature (written 4-27)

For this post I will step away from the usual “update” theme and talk about one of the many gradual changes of perspective I am experiencing here: Nature.

In the states I was very much a fan.  Anything from a simple walk in a park or in the woods to weekend camping trips could easily invoke my appreciation and general awe of nature. The sound of wind rustling leaves in the trees, birds singing; the sun piercing through those same leaves and forcing your pupils to adjust; the smell of a fresh spring morning.  It was all wonderful.  I thought that in Ghana I would find a parallel world of sights, sounds and smells not so different from this.  Turns out I was wrong.  Something happened – gradually, preventing me from recognizing it until it was too late. Don’t misunderstand; there are countless wonders here in Ghana that are just waiting for you to experience them.  Gorgeous sunsets.  More stars than you’d think ever existed.  Birds of extraordinary colors and songs.  Unfortunately there are also a number of unsavory experiences to accompany the these, experiences I didn’t expect to find in this parallel nature.  Going outside to brush my teeth in complete darkness, then coming back out in 5 minutes with a light only to realize there was a scorpion crawling around in the courtyard. Going out to the latrine and on the way back having my shadow chased by a camel spider. Waking up at 3am, then 4am, then 5am (repeating until I decide to get up) by roosters crowing.  The constant, epic battle between bamboo fence and goat.  A heavy rain washing away the earth under the corner of the house.  All of these experiences, while mostly harmless, have left a foul taste in my mouth when it comes to nature.  Now, when I bathe under starlight, all I see is just random pinholes in the sky, instead of Orion lying prone (and every day lower in the western sky), the big dipper to the north, always upside down, etc.  When I peer outside the screen door in the morning I am looking for goats in the far garden (the most deteriorated of the three) or children throwing rocks at the fence (or house, or cat, or anything), not at the sun spraying light onto the moringa trees.  Yes, somehow, I reached the point where I now abhor nature. I don’t think about what kind of tree this is, or what kind of insect that is.  I just know which trees will rot if you use them for fence posts and that every insect that lands on my skin should be immediately swatted and disposed of.

I suppose there is an elevated wildness here (farmers often suffer from snakebites, malaria is a constant threat) that my life pre-Peace Corps did not prepare me for.  But what then do you call having only 100 yards of broken trail separating me from a black bear? Or exceeding the temperature rating of my sleeping bag?  Or Are these experiences not wild?

When I settled in at site and started to notice the behavior of Ghanaians toward nature, I was appalled.  For most, the strategy is simple.  By fire, flood, or weapon, eliminate (that is, kill) any “wild” living thing that is considered even the most moderate nuisance.  Why not just let the snake cross the road instead of swerving to hit it?  Why kill the small ground squirrel if they are taboo for your culture to eat?  Now that my own attitude toward nature has soured, I can almost relate to this behavior.  It’s somewhat chilling, but it is also eye-opening.  Maybe the people I know here aren’t entirely ignorant in how they view nature.  Maybe nature brings enough negatives here that it’s just too difficult to see the positives.

The last remaining question for now is this: Is this a trend that will continue through my service, and even when I return to the states, or will some event, or gradual therapy (read: frequent walks in the woods), jar me from my melancholy and allow me to appreciate the beauty of my surroundings again?  I’ll let you know.

We have a secret in our culture, and it's not that birth is painful. It's that women are strong. ~Laura Stavoe Harm

It was about an hour until dark in the village, nearing 5pm. I was busy recovering from a minor GI illness, i.e. sipping Gatorade and watching The Man in the Iron Mask (really enjoyable movie by the way). I got a call on my cell phone from Joseph, the Ghanaian whom I do most of my work in the village with. He sounded most excited and happy on the phone, which has a very contagious effect on me. He said, “Madam, the TBA is planning to deliver this afternoon, you should come.” I said I’d be right there. TBA stands for Traditional Birth Attendant, also known as a traditional midwife. From Wikipedia, “Traditional midwives provide basic health care, support and advice during and after pregnancy and childbirth, based primarily on experience and knowledge acquired informally through the traditions and practices of the communities where they originated.^” From my experience here in Ghana, this definition is mostly true.

I’ve told Jumbo’s TBA multiple times that I wanted to be present for any and all births she attends; it’s taken this long for her to take me seriously. I believe she thought I wouldn’t be able to handle the scene, even though she knows I was a nurse in the states. I walked over to the TBA’s house. I was told she was in the bathhouse (pictured below) and that I should go see her. I looked around the corner of the bathhouse and the pregnant mother, for being in such an uncomfortable location and position, looked calm and comfortable. She was sitting on a concrete step on the floor of the bathhouse in the clothes that God gave her. Labor must not be happening I thought to myself, this woman is in no distress at all! It was a cool evening, as a storm front had passed over, bringing no more than a few sprinkles of rain, but bringing welcome cool winds and a cooler temperature. It was even sprinkling lightly still.

The "delivery room" was the one on the right ----------------- note: concrete step

Not 10 minutes following my initial assessment of “not in labor,” she had moved to the floor of the bathhouse, shoulders resting on a light piece of fabric. Now join the reinforcements. Two women entered the bathhouse with the TBA and me; they were the knee-holder-backers. I envisioned a squatting birth, but instead it was to be a birth brought forth while in the least gravitationally assisted way (while lying on one’s back). She pushed for 2 seconds, and then relaxed. She spoke calmly something in Likpakpaln - I imagined it to be something like, “I’m tired and am just going to lie here, and I could use some water.” I couldn’t believe how quiet and calm she was! At this point, I was given a little stool. About six inches off the ground, with a base (for my bum) 6 inches by 10 inches; I shared it with another woman. Believe it or not, it was a lot more comfortable than squatting on my heels and not the most uncomfortable seat I’ve experienced in Ghana. I then realized that there were a number of additional people in this small bathhouse-turned-delivery-room. I stopped for a second to count six people total: the TBA, myself, 2 leg-holder-backers another women with a flashlight sharing my humble stool, and, of course, the pregnant mother. The midwife was not squatting, instead she was standing bent over at what seemed like a 90-degree angle, constantly “checking the baby’s progress” and preparing the way for the baby’s head. How can a woman of at least 60 or 70 years of age be bent over in that fashion for that long? I was amazed at her agility. I envisioned a less hands on labor, but though it appeared uncomfortable for the mother, she displayed no signs of suffering.

As it was now growing dark, I utilized the most amazing function on my cell phone, a light! I soon became the reliable source of light to illuminate the slow progress of the labor. As a Ghanaian would say, “the mother was not serious at all!” Her version of pushing consisted of notifying the assistants that she was going to push, pushing for a second or two, and then relaxing back saying something quietly. After long, the women began to grow tired of her lackadaisical manner. They would encourage her verbally whilst pushing, then yell at her and threaten to whip her with a long, thin stick. The bathhouse was a dual bathhouse, meaning 2 bathhouses attached to each other with a 5-foot wall separating them. At one point during the labor, a man came to bathe in the adjoined bathhouse next to us. He spewed some advice (like he’d know) and yelled at her for being lazy. Two hours into the labor, I began to worry; we had been able to see the baby’s head for over an hour, but her contractions were not intense, the woman had no drive to push well, and some of her anatomy seemed to be blocking the best route for the baby. What now? Another younger TBA came to help figure out what was taking so long. A rag soaked in alcohol (the drinking kind) was placed over the baby’s would-be entrance to the world. A long prayer was said over the pregnant mother’s belly. There was a very hushed conversation between the mother and the TBA. My concern grew. Many different women exited and entered the bathhouse. I stayed constantly with the mother; I didn’t think she should be alone.

I paused to say a prayer of my own, then listened to my surroundings. A large semi truck, likely full of yams, was slowly navigating the Jumbo hill, down-shifting loudly. Frogs were calling for their lovers in the Jumbo River. A chorus of children under the age of five were bantering in the compound attached to the bathhouse. Two dogs, also in the compound, had found something to fight over. Women were angrily shouting advice and distain at the mother. A mother goat had lost track of one of her babies, and was desperately bleating for it to come back. Men were discussing their days and their latest grievances (usually pitifully minor) as loudly as possible. Someone had a radio blaring static. Further in the distance was some hip-hop Ghanaian music playing, heavy on the bass. I was sure the baby could hear all that was going on outside its safe, dark world. Would I willingly enter such a chaotic place? I guess I did by joining Peace Corps Ghana, but did I get a 9-month sample of this soundtrack to help me make my decision? I did not.

Throughout the labor, we had many observers at the bathhouse. A dog came to see what all the fuss was about; many chickens flurried in and out; the would-be big-brother (in his birthday suit) often peeked around the corner; women from the compound and neighboring compounds came to let the mother know she was taking too much time; and men came by too, though they didn’t come close for a look but rather clicked their tongues (the best way to vocalize disapproval) when receiving the status update. There were now a total of eight women in the small “delivery room.” The baby’s head was visible still, and the woman was going to give it one last go. Thankfully, her last effort was her best, and the baby’s head emerged, and with some encouragement from the seven non-laborers present, the mother was able to push one last time to help the baby fully enter its new, noisy world.

I shouted “usaapwaan!” A girl! They all laughed and agreed. The little girl gave a healthy albeit gurgely cry and the TBA washed her mouth and nose secretions away. She was squirming vigorously, a good sign. Some thread was brought and the umbilical cord was tied in a few sections. I helped hold the slick, flailing limbs so that ties could be made well, cell phone light between my teeth. A new razor blade was brought and the cord cut (I checked it to that it had the correct 2 arteries and 1 vein). I then tried to give the slippery baby to the mother, but instead was instructed to carry it to a room in the compound. With surprising security, I carried her in one arm to the room and placed her on a soft bed made of several clothes on the cement floor. I gave instruction that the mother should eat well when she was able and that she should start breastfeeding immediately. Those present agreed that it would happen that way. I was offered drink (probably to be something heavy on the alcohol content) as it was tradition to do so after such a difficult labor, but respectfully declined. They thanked me repeatedly, and the TBA gave me an approving smile (I imagine she was thinking, “You didn’t pass out!”), I told her, “until next time,” to which she responded, “until next time.”

So ends my first first-hand-experience of a birth in Ghana. I believe it will be the first of many - at least I hope that is the case. I have not found a more important, blessed, or happy event to lose sleep over. This particular girl was born into a life of hard work and likely disregard, but she has also been given the chance to overcome adversity and change our village of Jumbo and the whole of Ghana for the better. I have certainly set my sights high for this baby girl, but without wishes, hopes, and dreams, how can one begin to envision a better world?

Girls Club, If you know the secret handshake you're in...

The lovely ladies of "The Girls Club"

I’ve started a girls club. I’ve creatively named it, “The Girls Club” so hopefully soon they’ll rename it something more original. We’ve had 2 meetings so far. The first consisted of laying out mats in the courtyard, learning names, and playing with play-dough (scented and flavored with a Kool-Aid packet!). We also played a name game that required the girls to think of adjectives starting with the first letter of their name. For English being their 3^rd language they did well with a little help. I now will remember the girls by one of their adjectives; it’s sort of like a nickname for them, which makes them feel special. I am Terrific-Tricia. We then played with the play-dough. I tried to explain it before handing them all a chunk, but after a few moments of awkward silence, they said, “please, madam, we don’t understand.” Maybe it was because the staple of their diet is a food called fufu, which the play-dough resembles. Maybe it’s because as children growing up in this village, they didn’t have time to play, let alone be creative. So, I taught them the word mold, and showed them how to mold the play-dough into a shape or an object. Eventually they understood, and giggly and excited conversation ensued. One of the girls had a pretty severe creative block, showing me each of her creations, an orange, a rock, a ball, a ball of fufu, a mango… while another impressed me by making a watch and flip-flops. It was a lot of fun. Our next meeting I invited them to watch a movie for fetching a barrel of water for Kris and me. Luck had it that a projector, rented for an HIV/AIDS workshop, was not in use that evening. We were able to watch the episode “Pole to Pole” of the Planet Earth series on “the big screen.” They were amazed, not speechless, as they were trying to help each other figure out what amazing creatures and landscape they were viewing. They saw polar bears, ice, snow, wolves, elephants, penguins, elk, millions and millions of birds in a single frame, and brightly colored dancing birds.

Why did I start a girls club? Most girls don’t even finish primary school here. Most women in my village have never gone to a single class of school. Many girls are married by the time they are 17 or 18, and they have a child right away. Teenage pregnancy is an epidemic here, and there is no choice but to drop out of school and raise the child; their education is over. Many parents won’t bother with their girls’ education, because of the last three reasons, “it’s a waste of time and money.” I believe if anything is to change for the better in my village, it will be because the girls and young women are educated. If all they know is cooking, farming, fetching water and baby making, that is the life they will lead and teach to their children, a never changing cycle.

My 6 girls range in age from 14-17, they range in class from Primary 4 (4^th grade)—Junior Secondary School 2 (8^th grade). They have between 4 and 7 siblings. At the end of our first meeting, I taught them what the word goal meant. I then had them write what their goal for 2011 was. All of them mentioned going to school. My main objective for the girls club is to keep them motivated to go to school; to model for them that they can do more than become a young wife, mother, and farmer if they want. I also want to teach them about health, safe sex, and HIV/AIDS. We only meet once a week, but every day at least two of them come to the house to “greet” me. I ask them about school, and the subjects they were taught that day. I offer them help with questions and schoolwork, fully aware that they will be asked nothing about their school day at their own home.

This week I plan to play Apples-To-Apples Junior with the girls. (Brief description: Select the card from your hand that you think is most like the card played by the judge. If the judge picks your card, you win that round. And, everyone gets a chance to be the judge! For example, if the judge picks Loud, which card from your hand would you choose to describe it best: Parties, My Mom, or Doing the Dishes?) I thought it would be a good way for them to expand their English vocabulary. Before I brought out the cards, I thought I’d open them up and look through them to make sure they were relevant. Unfortunately, 75 were things unknown and mostly unexplainable. Of those, I’ll share 25 with you.

1. Grassy Hill

2. Cleaning your room

3. Going to a movie

4. Cinderella

5. Fireworks

6. Cotton Candy

7. Mittens

8. Mail Carrier

9. Going to the Dentist

10. Root Beer

11. Macaroni and Cheese

12. Finger Painting

13. Babysitters

14. Jell-O

15. Flying a Kite

16. A Fairy

17. Playgrounds

18. Picnics

19. Pajamas

20. Summer Camp

21. Recess

22. Lifeguards

23. Gummy Bears

24. Treehouse

25. Sledding

In addition to the 75 that will not be played here, I adapted some like, Hot Chocolate==Cocoa Drink, Birthday Cake==Birthday (still a stretch), Grocery Stores==Market, Baking Cookies==Baking, and Cherry Pie==Meat Pie. It’s easy to take your childhood for granted. I no longer do, at least I try not to. I played a lot! Often I even played with homemade play-dough and until recently my mother thought I didn’t snack on it, I played dress-up (I had a bin of clothes just for that purpose!), and had time to think creatively and to be inventive. More importantly, I had parents who cared a lot about my education. If you are looking for an inspirational story about girl child education, read Three Cups of Tea or Stones into Schools, both by Greg Mortenson. Sorry if this post is a downer, it wasn’t meant to be. It’s realizing the true root of many of the issues of this area that is most important to my village’s steps toward better health, education, and prosperity.

hard at work (written Jan 9)

This week (the week of Jan 10-14) will be a busy one for me*. The village baby weighing Monday, yay babies! I’m helping another PCV with an HIV/AIDS workshop for the next 2 weeks. I’ll be conducting a review session at the end of each day consisting of Q&As and a truth or myth presentation. I’ve also organized a communal workday on market day for the village to mold 500 of the local bricks. With the bricks, we’ll make two bathhouses and a latrine for the nurse I’ve been working to get in the village. My original goal for having the clinic open was January, now I’ll be lucky if we’re open by March. I also will be meeting with the District’s new Medical Director to discuss ideas and goals for the district. I’m looking forward to seeing whether we have similar ambitions. I’m also working on making another garden off the back of our house. It will be a model garden for the clans in the village who want to have a Moringa garden. I’m planning to get funding for enough bamboo for a garden large enough for 40-50 trees for each clan to have a Moringa garden. Kris and I will make our own for reference.

We’ve been at site about 5 months and in Ghana about 7 months and I can tell the rest of our time here will fly by. Kris and I are slowly becoming known for our cooking and baking skills. It’s a pain for other volunteers to travel to our site for a visit, but with mango bread, fresh cow milk and chili, they might keep coming back, I hope so, we love visitors. I keep saying this, but the days do go by slowly, but the months seem to fly by. Before I know it, it’ll be June and there will be some new Peace Corps Trainees in Ghana, I won’t be new anymore, I’ll be one of those older, wiser, tougher and unshakable volunteers. I hope you all are enjoying the New Year. I know it’s cold back home, quit complaining and come visit me! I promise you won’t need to bring more than t-shirts and shorts; you won’t need a sweater like me.

*(written January 12) Lesson learned, don’t overextend yourself. As some of you know, I got dysentery this week. It was not planned into my busy schedule, yet overtook all of my plans. Let’s just say I didn’t think 20 trips to the latrine in one day was possible, especially with no food in ones stomach. I am now into day 3/3 of antibiotics and think I’m beginning to feeling better. I doubt I’ll be at full strength for awhile, but will do my best to take it easy and return to normal. I’m starting to eat again and have been trying my best to replace fluids in greater amounts than they are lost, seemingly impossible without an IV. Kris is holding up his part of the sickness/health bargain (once again). Even though it seems like I’ve been a magnet for illness, I’d rather it be me than him, I’m perfectly fine distracting myself from feeling sick by watching endless amounts of TV shows whereas he’s not quite as patient. Thanks for all of the thoughts, concern, and prayers. I have an amazing support system back home and couldn’t do any of this without you.