Tag Archives: Anxiety

I think that’s a cricket?

We found the house without much trouble on Monday night around 9:30. After a few minutes of yelling his name, Raúl, the caretaker, appeared and came to open the gate. Also at the gate was a cute, if very skinny, dog who was eager to meet us. I have forgotten her name at the moment, but I’ll get back to you. She’s super sweet and I’m glad for her company.

Our vicious killer of a guard dog.

Raúl let us into the house and immediately my mind went into snap judgment mode, as I imagine (hope? selfishly, for the sake of making me normal, not because snap judgments are good) it does for most people when they arrive in a new place. The first thing I noticed were the very clean and shiny stone floors. Then the huge thatched roof. It feels like we live in a big tiki hut, honestly. Those were some of the positive parts.

As we continued exploring, I found both positive and negative elements. Or maybe I’ll just say positive and interesting. That’s a better way for me to handle it.

Interesting: outside of the fridge is quite rusted and gross looking. Positive: the inside looks clean and feels cold.

Positive: there is a desk and chair for Eric! Interesting: the seat of the chair is not parallel to the floor.

Positive: there are screens on the windows to keep bugs out. Interesting: It doesn’t really matter because various portions of the roof do not completely come together, leaving fairly large spaces for creatures to enter.

Interesting: The GIANT cricket on the wall just outside our bathroom. Positive: My husband is trained in the art of capturing these guys in towels and releasing them outside…so as to challenge them to re-enter via the roofline.

Positive: Salamanders/various lizards are not harmful. They’re not even gross. Interesting: They will scare the absolute hell out of you when they sneak up on you in the water closet.

Positive: Eric is willing to go after these with his patented towel method…at least until they hide behind the toilet.

Positive: I feel safe here. Interesting: Rusty barbed wire outside our window. This one isn’t actually so bad. I’m pretty used to seeing this around here. Doesn’t bother me.

See the rusty barbed wire just outside the window?

Positive: Really beautiful and fun tiki-style thatched roof. Interesting: No windows to open upstairs to allow for the amazing Punta Chame breezes to come through the 2nd floor. Positive: We have a 2nd floor. It’s pretty silly.

Positive: We have a stove and oven. Interesting: We have completely unlabeled knobs. How hot is the oven supposed to be for those potatoes? 425? Well, fun. I’m going to set it on plain white kinda far away from the dot. Positive: Eric is a good cook. Last night we had a lovely meal of rosemary potatoes and various fried things filled with meat. Man, did we miss our fried things filled with meat!

Eric was the first to have a go at the shower yesterday (Tuesday) morning. We had been told that we would have hot water, which was pretty special. We weren’t surprised to find out that it was one of those plastic contraptions stuck onto the pipe as it comes out of the wall…I’m not a plumber, I don’t know how to better describe it. Let’s just say it’s a fairly basic system. Not a problem…until the water just stops. Yes, we have hot water, but only for 2 minutes at a time. If Eric didn’t have time to finish his shower, I knew I was doomed.

Last night I gave it a try. I immediately realized that buying separate shampoo and conditioner had been a big mistake. It turns out that I can either wash my hair or my body, but not both in the same go. I’ll have to work on a solution to this one. Currently I have 12 hour old hair and the rest of me is freshly washed. Well, freshly washed with a thick coating of 100% deet.

If you didn’t know it before, you are now realizing that I am not an outdoorsy kind of girl. I desperately want to be. I grew up in Asheville and played in the woods every day when I was little. I love the idea of camping. I love hiking, as long as there are no bugs or spiderwebs. I love fresh air and quiet. I love that I cannot hear any cars right now and that the breeze blows through the [first floor of the] house in the evenings. But gosh, I do not like any kind of insects. I hate the feeling of grass on my wet feet (Mom, remember how I was never good with slip-n-slides on the front lawn?). I think my parents have photos of me on the beach with one foot in a bucket of water. Apparently I would wash the sand off of one foot, then switch feet, only to have to do it all over again. I like to think that maybe that made me an easy kid to keep busy. I was diligent at least.

And yes, this is a completely different type of experience from our last time in Panamá. I knew that coming in, and I am prepared to do some adapting. We’ll get to that part.

But first, the most unsettling thing by far…the smell of the toilet paper. Yep. Seriously.

What is evidently the most common brand of toilet paper in this country has an intensely strong smell. It’s not a bad smell. It’s a bit like baby powder and a bit like a cleaning product. The problem for me is that the smell is intricately intertwined with my month-long illness and week-long hospital stay in early 2015. More on that in a later post. For now I’ll just say that it brought back some terrifying memories and added unnecessary anxieties to this new experience. But, I’m making small changes to alleviate my anxieties. Don’t like the toilet paper? Get new toilet paper! Done. Think all the dishes are gross? Wash them all and clean out the drawers (*we don’t have a pantry or cabinets, just drawers).

So today, I am making a list of ways to work through my worries and anxieties about the house and being here in general. Here’s what I have so far. I’m sure I’ll add to the list as the days go by.

  1. Deal with one anxiety at a time.
  2. Blog your way through those anxieties. Find humor in the inconveniences. Or at least allow others to find humor in it.
  3. Clean one thing at a time.
  4. If the spoons look really disgusting, buy new spoons.
  5. Deal with bugs when you see them, not when you imagine them coming.
  6. Remember that you do NOT have c.diff. this time around. And even if you get it, we now know what to look for and how to handle it a lot more quickly.
  7. Locate the closest medical facilities, just to put your mind at ease.
  8. STAY HYDRATED.
  9. If the smell of the perfumed toilet paper reminds you of having c.diff., get new toilet paper.
  10. Accept that cleanliness is relative (i.e. clean + bug spray + sunscreen + whatever kind of dirt blows in through the windows = clean).
  11. When overwhelmed, stick your feet in the pool, pet the dog, and read a book.
  12. Don’t pee in a shower that doesn’t drain properly. The next day will not be awesome.

And now, a few more photos of the house. It’s a weird shape, so it’s hard to get your bearings with just pictures, but here goes:

This morning I was a little groggy from cold medicine when Eric left the bedroom to start his day. I picked my head up to see him go. He stopped abruptly and said, “I think that’s a cricket?” I went right back to sleep, but remembered his words later in the day and decided to ask about it. His response? “I mean, I think it was a cricket! I just think it was injured or something. So it was just laying there, flopping all silly.”

So there’s that.

In other news, Eric got his kite today! Very exciting! He hasn’t fully unfolded it yet, but it’s blue and a darker blue and kinda reddish. Photo coming soon. We went over to the kite school around 3:30 today and caught up with Itzick – “the Ab Master” – Millie, who is responsible for keeping the school running, and Nino, Eric’s adorable 20-something Austrian instructor.

Machete Kites

We went for a long walk along the beach, then headed up to the “Machete Swing Bar.” Calm down, it’s nothing kinky. It’s the outdoor bar at the kite school that has swings instead of seats. The temperature was perfect and the sun was starting to go down. Beautiful. We discovered something slightly unnerving – the bar no longer carries Balboa, Eric’s Panamanian beer of choice. It now carries only Quilmes, an Argentine (Argentinian? I’m never sure) beer. Luckily, it’s not so bad. Whew!

Real men drink beer on swings.

We walked down to the beach to watch the sunset. I’m not usually a sucker for sunsets on the beach. To me, most beachscapes are boring. There’s water, there’s sky. That’s it. But here, there are beautiful mountains across the water. There are brightly colored kites all over the sky. It’s always exactly the right temperature. There’s always a nice breeze. The instructors usually go out to kite, so you’re also watching a pretty spectacular show. Tonight Eric gestured for me to stand in front of him so he could wrap his arms around me. At the same time, we both sighed. Perfection.

Marta

So how did it go with the…uh…do I call her a maid?  Housekeeper?  I used empleada through the whole last post and I was comfortable with that.  Maid makes me feel like I’m calling her something derogatory and like I’m living in an episode of Downton Abbey (which I just started watching b/c of this whole experience).  Housekeeper makes me think of Alice on The Brady Bunch.  Empleada will have to do, but it’s tedious to write, so I’ll just call her by her name, Marta.

I could not focus on work while she was here.  I was so nervous.  I hate confrontation.  I hate having to be authoritative.  I hate everything about what I was supposed to be and how I was told I was supposed to act towards this woman in order to get her to do the job we are paying her to do.  I hate this whole system.

I don’t like the idea of someone else being in my house and touching my things.  We don’t do this in the States.  Our homes are very private places.  We close our bedroom doors when we have parties.  People ask which restroom they should use.  They ask before they go looking for a glass if they want water.  For someone to come into my home and for it to be her job to touch everything I own…I just couldn’t take it.

Since I’ve known Eric, he’s had someone come clean his house once every two weeks.  This, somehow, is very different for me.  I still preferred to be at work or out of the house with this person would come, but I was much more comfortable with the situation.  For one, I think, it was because Eric handled it.  For most of the time before we came to Panama, it was Eric’s house.  We weren’t married yet.  He gave instructions, and I feel that he is very good at doing this with authority, yet being very nice about it at the same time.  He commands respect, but people still love him.  He has a wonderful personality for it.

I have to wonder, does it also have something to do with his gender – at least in these situations?

At any rate, by 10 am, I was horribly nauseous.  I told my co-worker that I was utterly useless.  I couldn’t think about anything other than where Marta was or what I was going to say to her next.  What if she did something I didn’t like?  What if she went ahead and ate the food that we had set aside for us rather than for her?  What if she…fill in the blank?  Finally, I was so nauseous that I dry heaved, then went to lie down in Eric’s office, telling him I just didn’t know what to do.

I fell asleep, and the rest of the afternoon, not surprisingly, passed without incident.  She did a great job cleaning, told me what supplies we are lacking, and even cooked the corvina (local fish) that I asked her to cook for us.  She made a sandwich for Eric, as I requested, and one for herself.  She then served herself a portion of the fish, after we agreed that this was a one-time special meal since we were not prepared with the appropriate food for her.  She made a list of foods she would like for lunch, and hopefully next week we will be ready for that.

I did note that, while no one was eating at the dining room table, she still took a chair from the table and ate her lunch at the kitchen counter instead.

I did get taken on a few parts of our deal.  Generally in Panama, empleadas work an 8 hour day, and the $25/day we pay pays for the full 8 hours.  Marta insisted that it doesn’t work like that, but that she leaves when the job is done.  This week, she left around 2:30 or 3, I was ready for her to go, and the place was very clean, considering that we were lacking a squeegee for the windows.

Eric and I had also made a very detailed list of what we wanted to be done around the house.  When Marta came in, she scoffed at the list saying that she had experience, that this was her work, and that she didn’t need the list.  However, there were several things on the list that were not completed.  Common things, such as washing our clothes.  I’ll have to address this with her, which of course, causes me additional anxiety.  I hate this stuff.  She’s used to facing off against employers.  I’m not used to putting my foot down and being forceful.  I don’t like to do it.

This is exactly the part that I don’t like about being a lawyer.  I don’t like that you walk into the courtroom and the atmosphere is antagonistic.  I would much rather we all work together to find out the truth of what happened.  Did the DOC guard actually beat my client and cause his fractured jaw?  If it happened, can’t we all agree that that is wrong?  Okay.  Let’s work from there.  Let’s all open up the information that we have and figure out what happened.  Eric said today, and I have often thought the same thing:  I should’ve been a British barrister.

One thing I did start thinking about last night though, was a possible project.  I’m interested in this whole system.  It’s got it all.  Human rights, women’s rights, politics, interpersonal communication, language barriers, culture clashes, class hierarchies, family issues…the list goes on.  What if I started purposefully talking (in Spanish) to people about their experiences with empleadas?  What if I turn into Emma Stone from The Help (or the woman who actually wrote the book…my apologies to the purists, I only saw the movie) and interview folks, get the stories, learn about the politics, the reasons why people act as they do?

What if I also talk to some of the women who work in these homes to hear their experiences with their employers?  To hear their backgrounds, where they come from, what it was like when Martinelli (the ex-president of Panama) changed the immigration laws and allowed nearly everyone to get legal status to work here?  How do the Panamanian empleadas feel about the influx of Colombians and Nicaraguenses?  How does that affect the job market and how did they have to change their tactics?  What is it like to be ignored at work all day, to be expected to work in silence?  How do you feel about the “man of the house”?  How do the kids treat you?  What is the worst experience you’ve ever had?  Do you feel that you have the freedom to seek other work?  Have you ever gone into a job knowing you just want to work for long enough to afford a particular pair of jeans and then quit as soon as you have that certain amount of money (this was another story I heard)?

I don’t know what I would do with the information…I’m not looking for a book deal.  But I do think it would get me out, get me practicing my Spanish, and that it would be interesting.  We’ll see if I’m still interested in the idea tomorrow.  But for now…it’s a thought.

If you have a second, please say a quick prayer that God would help me with this anxiety surrounding my relationship with this woman.  I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to me, but I’ve still be struggling with it all day today.  Even just writing about it now, my stomach is tight and I’m dreading seeing her on Wednesday.  I know, I know, 1st world woman in a 3rd world country problems.  But anxiety sucks.  It’s crippling.  And it doesn’t make sense.  You can’t tell it to be practical and think through things.  It doesn’t listen to that.  So instead of talking to it, I’m trying to talk to God about it instead.  And, gracias a Dios, sometimes I’m doing that in Spanish b/c that’s what is starting to come to my head more and more!

Aside

Health clarification

**Sorry if the next few posts are a little off chronologically.  We haven’t had wifi in the new apartment until just now, but I’ve still been writing, so these are being posted a few days after they actually happened.  Holler if something needs clarification.

Apparently I wasn’t very clear about why I was in the hospital or what’s been going on health-wise because I got a number of really sweet emails and WhatsApp messages asking if I was okay.   Thank you!  The short of it is that I managed to get some kind of drug-resistant bacteria that wreaked havoc on my GI system.  I got super dehydrated and went to the ER twice for fluids and meds.  When that didn’t work, I was admitted to the hospital for five days while they ran a number of unpleasant tests and pumped me full of saline to the point where I gained about 10 pounds of water weight.  Blew up like a balloon.  Most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced.  Eric has enjoyed pressing his thumb into my cankles to make dents in them…in the most loving way possible, of course.

We got home from the hospital last Sunday afternoon, February 15, and we were scheduled to be kicked out of that apartment the following day.  Eric packed up the whole place by himself, made countless trips back and forth to the new place – all on foot, mind you – moving all of our stuff including 4 huge suitcases, 2 carry-ons, all of our food, and a million random things that we had accumulated over the past 5.5 weeks.  It was all I could do to roll over on the couch to try to get comfortable.

The following morning, he ushered me to the new place in 90 degree heat.  I used all of my energy just walking those few blocks rolling a carry on bag.  In short, I have no idea what I would do without him.  I can’t begin to count the number of trips he’s taken to the pharmacy, the grocery store, back and forth between the hospital and the new house, to the bank to try to open an account without knowing enough Spanish to really do so, to the power company to try to finagle a way to get power in the new place before Carnival started on the 14th and everything shut down.  Not only that, but he slept in my hospital room every night on an uncomfortable cot, calmed me when my anxiety took over, and did a million other things like handing me water so I could take my pills and getting gatorade from the pharmacy because the smell of Panama water was making me nauseous.

Luckily, I’ve had a doctor who has made himself available nearly 24-7 via cell phone and text (WhatsApp).  A huge comfort.  And since we moved into our new place, I’ve been recovering well.  I still have a ways to go before I can eat everything that I want to or take a long walk, but I’m MUCH more comfortable, I feel at home in our new place, and I am well on the road to feeling better.

Again, thank you for your thoughts and prayers.