Home sick

This is the Blender Bottle® :

It's awesome. That little whisk ball goes inside. Then you unscrew the lid, pour in your ingredients, shake shake shake, and dispense out the handy flip-spout. I use it all the time to whip up salad dressing, stir-fry sauce, milkshakes, or just powdered drink mix with water. I love it. (I admit, I guess it wouldn't find it as cool living in the Western world, where you probably just use, you know, an actual blender.)

The other night I was thirsty and thought I'd fix some lemonade. I went to my little pantry cabinet to get the drink mix, and there I spotted these apple cider packets that my mom just sent. Mmm, sounds yummy. I changed my plan and set some water on to boil. I emptied the cider mix into my faithful Blender Bottle and waited.

Now, honestly: are there red flags screaming out to any of you at this point? Through a loophole at my high school, I was the only member of my graduating class never to take a physics course. Maybe this is where it's doomed me. *Apparently* (as corroborated on Blender Bottle's website), you are at no point to put hot liquid in this container. Nor baking powder, nor carbonated drinks. Because it's possible that if you do...

The thing will explode in your face.

And it turns out boiling water to the face really kills! Who knew?

For a brief moment, I was frozen in shock, my eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Slowly I blinked them open and was immediately very relieved that my vision was normal -- but instant pain started stinging at my face. Confused, I managed to grab a bandana and run to my water filter. I got the bandana wet and started dabbing frantically at my face, but pain was increasing by the minute and I realized I was shaking. Not knowing what to do, I dashed for my phone and weakly dialed the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) in Kigali. She authorized me to go to the little village clinic, which happens to be right by my house. My very sweet neighbor escorted me and translated for me, since I sure wasn't up to fending for myself in Kinyarwanda. This was about 7 p.m.

A receptionist or nurse seemed quite unhurried and unconcerned as she wrote my name in a book and then disappeared. I kept blotting at my face and tried to concentrate on breathing normally, because I kept gasping and I felt like a child. The woman came back accompanied by a man, who wanted to give me an injection of some kind but I refused because the PCMO had advised against it -- can you imagine what could go wrong with that? So they put some zinc oxide ointment on me (it's worth noting, actually, that they did not personally apply it but just gave the tub to my neighbor, who then smeared it on for me) and gave me two little ziplock baggies of pills and sent me on my way. No paperwork and no payment.

Fortunately, I thought to ask what the pills were. The first were just ibuprofen, but the others were amoxicillin -- good to know, because I'm allergic to penicillin. Later, I thought about how often average Rwandan citizens must be administered drugs they might be allergic to, maybe even dangerously so. I'm sure meds are abused all the time, since the clinic staff didn't exactly give me clear instructions about how long to continue medicating, and the supply I received was excessive to say the least.

So, I didn't take the amoxicillin, but the PCMO said ibuprofen and Tylenol should be enough. The pain was really bad that first night, although the zinc oxide helped some, and it subsided considerably the next day. The water hit me the worst around my mouth and under/inside my nose, so they were very sore and numb. My eyelids also were quite tender.

The pain seemed to decrease in inverse proportion to the ridiculousness of my appearance. At first I was just kind of pink and swollen, although suffering greatly. Two days after the fact, I thought I'd return to school because I was feeling basically fine. I got dressed and ready, but upon stepping back from the mirror I realized I actually just looked like a clown. So I resorted to staying home a while longer, following a strict thrice-daily routine: cleaning my face with a baby wipe and carefully removing all the dead skin, lathering up almost my whole face with antibiotic ointment, then covering it all up with gauze.

For roughly 84 hours straight I was locked up inside my house. But the human body is an amazingly resilient thing, and I'm pretty much all better now. Because I guess I'm a masochist, I leave you with some brief photo documentation of my fun-filled week. I don't know how well you can see all the gory details, but enjoy.

Oh, and for the record: I still love you, Blender Bottle.