a day for healing

Before I left for Spain, a few people told me that I might get sick adjusting to the new climate, food, spices, etc. I thought they were crazy. ME? Nah...the baby who could tear open a crawdad at two? the girl who eats whole peppers without water and asks for more? And furthermore, I'd be in Spain, not a third world country.

I thought I was invincible, I guess. Or, at the very least, so eager to travel my whole life that my body had instinctively adjusted during my 22 years of anticipation.

Man, was I wrong. We were all wrong.

It all started Friday when Hillary noticed a couple of red bumps on her arm...which quickly spread to her chest, then legs, then feet. By Sunday, she looked like one giant hive with bumps from her toes to her eyelids. It became so intense that we had to go to the emergency room, but thank god for socialized medicine, we got in quickly, Hill got a quick shot in the ass, and we were on our way. Turns out she was allergic to the laundry detergent. No problem. So Monday I spent the entire day washing all of her sheets, blankets, whatever clothes had touched her blankets. And the hives healed.

So the storm was over, the clouds had parted, the hives had cleared...all was well in La Linea. Or so we thought. After a weekend of taking care of Hill, washing her clothes, making her tea, concocting different anti-itch remedies with my essential oils...I woke up Tuesday with a terrible sensation in my stomach.

Was it a spice I ate? A sick child blowing her nose and then hugging me goodbye? A little bug that flew from the winds of Africa up my nose and right into my stomach? We will never know. All I can say is that I was in so much pain that I couldn't sleep, I was nauseous, my stomach turned all day. I was certain I would die, right there in my bed, victim of some new disease that would be reported on in the following months. I would be the girl in the headlines: American dies after less than a month of being in Spain...the first victim of the newest MRSA pork flu.

And then once the nausea stopped, I started running a fever. But like my Mom always taught me, that's a good thing. So Hill made me a cold rag that I kept on my forehead, I refused any medicine (because the body needs to heat up in order to kill the virus) and by Wednesday afternoon I could finally eat again.

And that's when Zach started sneezing.

And so that was our week, swollen with hives, nauseous with some foreign bug, and sneezing repetitively on the couch.

Today, was indeed, a day of healing. We drank our tea...

experimented with some new food together...

...and explored the beaches of La Linea.

So, there you go, Spain! We survived your test...we're here to stay, at least for a year.

 ...and we'll climb any mountain you dare us to.