Patagonia Health Clinic — Natasha’s Perspective:
I had been working for about fourteen months straight on an epidemic outbreak in Argentina. The situation had gone from bad to worse, and I felt like there would never be any reprieve. I started to lose sleep, to the point where I was consistently functioning on about two hours a night. My health started to decrease, and one day, I finally fainted, right there in the hospital. The amount of failure that I felt at that time was something I couldn’t begin to describe. I was the doctor, a specialist in my field, and one of the leaders of our team.
“How could this happen to me at a time like this?” was the question that echoed through my mind again and again.
After endless bouquets of flowers, and thank you notes from my previous patients, I didn’t feel better — there were other people to help, other problems to solve, and I was powerless to do what was necessary to move forward with my quest. The nurses all tried to stop me from getting up and leaving so many times that they actually contacted my supervisor, who flew in from the states in order to check in on me.
“Well, Natasha, the good news is you’re getting better,” he began when he arrived. “And the other good news is that you’re not contagious.”
I nodded, unenthusiastic. I was more familiar with the illness than most of the other people in the area, and I didn’t need my financial sponsor to inform me that I had passed the diseases contagious period.
“Unfortunately, according to your blood work, you are highly susceptible to relapse, once exposed — which means you’re through here.”
I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and here it was, as large as anything else I could have imagined, and yet, somehow not foreign to my understanding. I knew what he was saying was correct. We had witnessed this pattern of illness in so many others in this area, I just figured that since I had not yet been infected, that I was somehow immune. I actually thought I had been given some kind of divine protection, since everybody told me that I was, “Doing God’s Work.”
Turns out that God had other plans for me, and my supervisor was the equivalent of some extremely unwelcome messenger.
“We all pooled together at the office and bought you a cruise trip. You’ll leave tomorrow, if you’re interested. The company will pay for a return trip, if you’re sour grapes about everything and would rather retreat to your apartment, but I suggest taking the trip — you deserve it.”
I didn’t respond to him, I was too busy sulking. He left the cruse ticket, some bonus cash on my bedside table, and told me to make my decision — he would see me soon regardless.
The nurses came in and cleaned up, preparing the space to be used by someone in more dire straits than I was in, but I still wanted the attention.
“Can I get some toast and a bit of tea,” I asked the woman when I could get her attention.
Both of us knew I didn’t need anything, and that I would be discharged that evening, but she brought them anyways.
I guess she thought I deserved a bit of pampering.
When she brought them, she also brought a personalized thank you card from the hospital staff. I guess they had all known that I was about to be forcefully ejected from their environment and had prepared in advance. Of course, none of them had told me.
“Traitors,” I thought, moodily sipping my tea, while poring over all of the names on the cards to read their personalized messages and stylized signatures. “I’m going to miss you all.”
I didn’t make a big deal out of things when I left.
The staff was extremely busy, so I wrote a note to all of them and saw myself to the door, stopping only to hand the note to the receptionist and smile. She returned the smile, and then I left, on my way toward whatever the future had in store for me. At that point, I still hadn’t decided whether or not I wanted to go for the cruise ship option or just fuck off and enjoy some down time, back in the states.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” I thought to myself, fingering the ticket in my pocket.
In the end, the decision to take the trip on the cruise was likely only because I had few other options, and that was the easiest route to take. I was in no mood to be booking flights or making major decisions.
I slept my final night at the apartment which had been rented to me during my stay. The NGO that funded my work here had covered the apartment as a living expense, and they could deal with the landlord. Without much difficulty, I passed into unconsciousness, breathing in the warm air through an open window.
Though I had passed out easily enough, my sleep was full of discord and ruin. In my dream, a lion had come from the horizon, bared its teeth, and backed me into a corner. When I could run no further, the lion bit my leg, and I felt a piercing pain shoot through my body. The pain subsided when I realized that he had stopped, realizing that I was in pain, and then began to lick my leg, until there were no more wounds.
The warmth of the lion’s tongue turned into the tongue of a wild looking man, who bathed my clit with his saliva until the early hours of the morning. I spent most of the night in a semi-orgasmic state and woke up in a near puddle of my own arousal.
“Damn,” I said, reaching a finger down the pajama pants that I had worn to sleep that night. “I definitely need to get laid — too much time playing doctor, not enough time getting my pussy mauled by a lion.”
I laughed, the absurdity of my own interpretation bringing me into awareness for the day.
“I guess that’s enough for now,” I said out loud, willing my arousal to subside so I could assemble the few possessions I had into a backpack, and ditch my apartment, and all of the feelings of regret and inadequacy that came along with it.
I was out of there in no time at all, and before I knew it, I was sipping a spiked lemonade on the pier, waiting for the cruise ship to make the call for passengers to get on board.
“Patagonia right before the New Years,” a lonesome tourist said to me just before I finished the bulk of my cocktail.
I looked at him, wondering if there was anything further to his statement, and all I got from him was a sigh and a glance out at the water which surrounded us.
“So it is,” I said, downing my cup and resting my arms on the side of the pier.
He must have caught some form of dark cynicism in my voice, because he turned to me in a concerned way and put an unsolicited hand on my arm.
I didn’t want to be rude, but I gave him a glance that told him he was not welcome to touch me, and that I didn’t need either his affection or his healing words of wisdom. Like many of the men in that area, he decided to ignore me, opting instead for a gentle smile and a soft squeeze. Something about his willingness to continue forward, even though I had been an ice queen, put me at ease. He walked away then, leaving toward town. As he disappeared from the pier, the cruise ship made their announcement.
“All Aboard!” the shout passed through the air, and eager tourists began to line up on the ship, all boarding for what they hoped would be some great adventure or reprieve.
I sniffed.
“Better go, and not be such a stick in the mud,” I told myself, before making my way to the cruise ship. “Who knows, it might turn out to be something special after all.”