Me llamo Becky. Soy enfermera. (My name is Becky. I´m a nurse).

Well, beloved readers, things are getting a bit better. I teamed up with a family practice medical student today at clinical, and he was sure to include me in what was going on and even teach me some of the finer points of medical Spanish that I missed during class (and believe me, I miss a lot). We went to a clinic in Tzununa (a few villages over from where I am in Santa Cruz), where the majority of the patients only speak K´achikel. I was working on medical histories with a translator who then would speak with the patient. It was chaotic and fun. The thing that really struck me is how much you can learn from folks based on what their facial expressions are and hand gestures. Patients here love injections (they believe it´s a more powerful form of medicine), and since none of the med students do shots, I was busy all day sticking needles in folks´asses. Unlike in the US where everyone hates the nurse because of the shots, I got plenty of ¨muchos gracias, senora¨and handshakes. Even the kids seemed stoked.

There are legions of feral dogs here that are in heat. I´m trying to turn off the part of my brain that wants to make JD come down here and fix them all, and then help me take them home for flea baths and organic dog food. They all eat trash, fight constantly, and have fleas. I´m pretty sure some are crossed with foxes, as they´re really small and cunning. One dog at The Iguana, the bar where I go, has befriended me. He´s an ex-pat´s dog, so he´s at least fed. It´s so insane to think that a week ago, Jim and I were standing in Petco, trying to pick out the cheapest dog food that was organic, sustained family farms, and gave Grif all the nutrients he needed. Grif comes with us and gets to pick out a toy on the way out of the store. First world privilege is insane.

Time for happy hour. Yeah, I´ve started drinking again down here. This hippie kid bartender makes a mean vodka tonic.