Background

When I was twenty five I found a girlfriend that I really liked and a few months later plain luck (and I am not saying if good or bad) sent us to live together. Sometime in November my grandpa died. He was beyond 90 and it was expected, but it was sad. I had thought about it way before, and dedicated time to spend with him, make him feel good about the grandchild he had and at some point he was very happy with me and offered me a gift. I still have the bike tool se the have me and I used it countless times to put apart my bicycles and clean them and oil them. We will go into detail some other day about my trips on a bike and my living off a bike, maybe not related to what I am experiencing now, but very, very cool. So grandpa died, grandma was not allowed to live alone much longer, she was taken to live with my aunt and my grandparents house remained empty. During those days my then girlfriend picked up a fight with her dad. Both are stubborn and have their own ideas, and her dad has a blunt way to say things. She had little patience and said she was leaving. She told me what had just happened in the phone, while she was riding a bus from her house to mine. She was about to arrive. I lived with my dad then, and I told him briefly what was going on, left, and went to the bus stop somewhat nervous and wondering what would happen next. My dad, being the coolest dad in the world took us in, but soon pointed out that we were too tight in my room, that my grandparents house was empty and needed to be taken care of, and that we should move there. We did. We didn’t plan anything about this, but it was funny that we moved there on a February 14th. I never believed in those dates, but I always laugh to myself when I remember this. We lived together about five years. A lot of things happened. I finished the university, found my first job, traveled a lot servicing space age medical equipment, got tired of being poorly paid and moved on to my second job. It originally dealt with robotics, but the stupid company didn’t sell equipment, so I spent my time reading the newspaper online and cleaning minor lab equipment. Nothing gets closer to washing dishes, and this young engineer got tired and depressed. I would come home in the afternoons with less and less energy. I just wanted to lie on my bed with a magazine, and probably a glass of coke with ice. Girlfriend wanted to go out and have fun, but I didn’t feel like it. Resting reading magazines was good enough for me, and I didn’t want to do anything else first. She sometimes wanted to talk when I arrived, and I listened and we talked about whatever for a little while until I excused myself to the bathroom. It became so frequent. She was upset about it, but I needed to go sit on the toilet. Time passed like this until one day we all were summoned to an office at work, and the warehouse keeper, nervous, his voice breaking, asked us if we could go and donate blood for his young child, that was having open heart surgery. Chilling! I had given blood to my cousin, so why not his kid, and donors are hard to find. I went to the hospital, I think it’s the one I hate the most because the area is very dirty and unfriendly, and got ready for the show in this government hospital. They had a ton of people in a well organized workflow, we went from one line to a waiting area, filled the questionnaire, waited to be called and had a sample taken for the first tests, went back to waiting, then approval… And that’s as far as I got. The lady told me I was anemic, gave my a big box of iron pills told me in a rush how to take them, and said that after that I needed to find out why I was anemic.

I left, took the pills for a few weeks and after a month forgot. Forgot the pills, but I was well aware of my anemia, but I didn’t know if I was too anemic, a little anemic, if anemia was measured in meters, liters, volts or hertz…

This sets up the background. I should add that I had already noticed that my stools were soft and I was always believing it must have been those dirty tacos we had the other day, and I shouldn’t eat in the streets, wash my hands, bacteria, blahblahblah. My relationship broke after some five years, and I was left alone. In those last days my dad had moved in with us along with grandma. My aunt had already had enough and it was dad’s turn. My girlfriend left and I was living again with my dad. After a few weeks I couldn’t stand the house no more, so I moved to the apartment, that had been left empty. I felt better there.

Time passed, two years, and my dad moved back in with me. It was a very nice season we lived together. We knew it was the last time we’d live together. I had changed jobs and the new company had given me a car. I took my dad to his office every morning and we listened to blues, country and bluegrass podcasts on the way. My dad started building a house, a year or two passed and it was finished. I had had a great time living with him, but I had a few issues, I sometimes didn’t feel quite right and my stools kept softening. I was scared and fear isn’t slow, and I reacted like ostriches: upon sight of a lion, they put their head in a hole and they don’t see the lion anymore. So I did nothing. I still worried, hushed my worries, imagined my last, very sick days, started to become cleaner, washing hands like Jack Nicholson, way too often…

My dad finished his house and moved there. I stayed in the apartment. In 2010 I felt I was traveling too much at work, one trip within the country every two weeks and then the trip wouldn’t usually last longer than a day or two. I found a job offer that featured work within the area I lived. I prepared my paperwork for the online application, updated my profile, and when I was ready to submit it, I found out it was no longer available. I was upset and forgot about it. Then, a couple of weeks later I got a call. I was offered a job that featured way more travel, a salary that doubled the one I had, and no office in my country. I took it! Oh, yes, I took it! It was October. In November I went to Israel for training. My health seemed good, but I had diarrhea all the time. I was trained and later next year I started to travel internationally on my own. I went to most Latin American countries, I went to lots of places in the US and I also worked with customers in Mexico. I traveled most weeks. I usually left in Monday and flew back on Friday. I had the idea to step in every country in the continent. I’ve been on this job ever since, and I only stopped traveling just before my arrival to Santa Fe.

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