I have rewritten this blog entry several times now.
The first time it was the tale of my two horrible, painful, disgusting butt boils, how I suffered through attempting to apply warm compress to them in the village and failed, how they oozed goo during my Volunteer Visit, how our medical officer poked them with knives for four days and how they were finally on the mend.
A riveting tale. But then something happened. I developed two new butt boils.
The second time I wrote this entry it was the tale of my four horrible, painful, disgusting butt boils, how I suffered through all the humiliation and pain for the first two only to have two more develop while those were on the mend, how our medical officer also discovered I had a fungus (like ringworm) on my leg when she was inspecting the boils, how I immediately filled my new hot water bottle and sat on it for three days straight and how the two new butt boils seemed to be taking care of themselves and were finally on the mend.
Also a riveting tale. But then something happened. I developed two new butt boils and one on my inner thigh nearer to my knee and a baby boil on each hip.
The third time I am writing this entry it is the tale of my eleven horrible, painful, disgusting boils, how I suffered through the humiliation and pain of two boils, how I developed two new boils that healed themselves, how boils then erupted all over me, how on the same day our medical officer put me on a high dose of antibiotics I caught a cold and I failed my Language Proficiency Interview, how I took to naming my boils like tropical storms (I got up to Karl, but both Karl and Jessica never made it to full hurricane strength before dieing down), how I spent all of Saturday in bed in our hotel room as the pressure in my head increased and the pressure in Eugene (the boils currently raging on my butt) slowly decreased and how the boils may finally be on the mend — again.
But I am not going to get my hopes too high. I may have to write this blog entry a fourth time when new boils erupt on my face or the soles of my feet or somewhere else equally comfortable. Or maybe they will just stick to my right ass cheek and slowly the entire cheek will rot off and I will be Sara, the one-butt wonder.
So, there you have it. The new, abridged version of my butt boils. If you are interested in the longer, day-by-day, blow-by-blow account of the boils, I can always email the earlier versions of this blog entry to you. I am sure you want to hear all the details of how difficult it is to apply a warm compress to your butt in the village when all you have is a handkerchief and a bowl of boiling water.
I would like to take a moment here at the end to express my love for Cale. I have no idea how a single volunteer could have dealt with this affliction. Cale has been inspecting, cleaning and dressing the wounds on my backside for three weeks now. There is no way I would have been able to care for them myself, especially in the village. If I had been single, I would have had to make a friend — a very awkward friend. I married Cale for a lot of reasons, not just all the presents we got at the wedding, but now I know that I married him because it means I will always have someone to bandage my oozing butt boils when I am living in a Sāmoan village and cannot do it myself.