Chikungunya and Other Challenges

By Lien Estrada

HAVANA TIMES – I suffer from severe headaches, Sacro lumbar pain, chondromalacia, and other ailments no less cruel. Ailments very typical of my generation, who suffer so much from bone problems—caused, for example, by the prolonged and repeated crises of all kinds, like the food crisis, which damaged our health to this day. So when a friend handed me some round, reddish painkillers in a little plastic bag, I couldn’t help but be grateful. At any moment they’d be turned into candy for me.

And unfortunately, it didn’t take long. In the morning, when I opened my eyes, I couldn’t get out of bed. My body was stiff, full of pain everywhere; any distance I wanted to travel—like getting to the kitchen to make coffee—was impossible. Taking a step, or even just standing upright, required immense effort. I couldn’t fully close my hands from the pain… and that’s when I understood: my story with the Chikungunya virus was beginning.

At home, the three of us had it. My aunt got it first, and she told my mother and me that by the third day we would feel better. I counted the hours and did my spiritual exercises, because only in cases like these does one become convinced that it’s truly impossible to make it to the next minute alone; in other cases, I can fool myself, but here there is no way. My feet swelled, and on the third day I felt such a strong stiffness in my head that it scared me. My right shoulder also hurt a lot. The side of my body I thought was better was the side I couldn’t lie on. Relief meant taking painkillers and staying immobile in bed.

Meanwhile, because we had just gone through Hurricane Melissa, the government of this unfortunate island was being “generous” by allowing us to have more electricity service in our homes. I had to congratulate myself for that. Having a fan at night and therefore not suffering from the mosquitoes that keep you from sleeping, knowing you can go to the bathroom without trouble because you can turn on whatever lights you need, feeling good because everything in the house is functioning—right now, that is a privilege in this country.

So when I realized how sick I was, but with hardly any blackouts, I had to feel grateful for life. Obviously, one always thinks about those who didn’t have the same luck. Sadly, many people have to deal even with those situations we could well call “extreme.”

On the third day, the carriage turned into a pumpkin. Six-hour blackouts. I told myself the dream had lasted too long. Then came the time we were supposed to get electricity again—and it didn’t come. “What’s happening now?” I asked my aunt. “The circuit went down,” she answered. This is one of the worst pieces of news one can hear right now: a breakdown. It’s no longer a “normal” blackout, it’s a break in the circuit we belong to. The way the electric company divided up the houses to organize blackouts by zones, as I understood it. Ours had broken, which is why we didn’t have power even when it was our turn.

Well, we had to call the electric company so they would come fix it and give us the hours of power we were owed. But the company wasn’t responding. No one knew if it was because they had run out of workers—who had finally realized that working for the Cuban government is the worst deal in this damned country. Or maybe the workers had packed up and left for other lands to live the life every human being deserves, instead of the one imposed by those in power who feel nothing. Or simply because they were overwhelmed with work in other places more affected than the area where we lived. Either way, time passed and no one answered.

“At least I have water,” I told myself. Another one of the many, many “privileges” in this country where scarcity rules—and when it doesn’t, the prices to access things do, which amounts to the same. I have to thank my cousin for the food he brought us. And we also received provisions sent by the family in the North. Thanks to Divinity, we had what we needed to continue resisting the virus and its aftermath, which I’ve heard can last up to a year—I hope that’s not true. The 24 hours of blackout passed. We’ve endured far more, but when we were healthy. I asked again about the blessed electricity, and who was taking care of the situation.

The neighbor on the corner was on it. A good young man, helpful. They told me he had been the president of a polling station—one of those elections the State wouldn’t dare call right now because it knows it wouldn’t get many voters and would get plenty of insults. The neighbor is kind. Whenever I have problems with my phone, I go to where he is and he helps me. So, I believe things are in good hands; it won’t fail for lack of effort.

Good thing my aunt is feeling better and can take care of us. I fully understand what feminists mean when they say we are all children of caregivers. Not only in childhood or in old age, as we often think, but constantly throughout our lives. When this fails, the consequences can be disastrous or irreversible.

Around 8:50 p.m., they finally turned the power back on! I breathed with some relief. We’d be spared a night of bad sleep—if we could sleep at all—with everything that involves. And for those who are bedridden, that is no small matter. Our priority now is to overcome the virus and regain our health. Because without the latter, obviously, no project is possible.

Read more from the diary of Lien Estrada.