Hot, Tired, and Nauseous

I really debated about writing about my mission, hence the fact that I haven't posted anything in quite a while. Well, that and the fact that school keeps me so busy that I don't have much time to sit down and actually write something. Also, I really don't want to portray my mission in a bad light. Many wonderful things happened during it. However, when someone is depressed, it's hard to not focus on the many bad things that happened, even if they are seemingly little.

My first week in Arizona was definitely one of the hardest weeks of my mission. We flew out early Tuesday morning, nearly six weeks after being in the MTC. The excitement on the bus and plane was tangible. I couldn't figure out if I was excited or sad. Driving out of Provo itself nearly brought me to tears. Why do painful memories always pop up at inconvenient times? Before I knew it, though, we were on the plane. All the missionaries around me were excited, and I couldn't help but feel so, too.

My first sight of the Grand Canyon ever was on that flight. I also remember how everything was brown and dry-looking--definitely not the lush green that I was used to seeing in Wisconsin. Although I wasn't going to a different country, I almost felt like I was in a different world.

It was hot that day, more hot than I expected. Everything seemed to have a haze, but perhaps that was just me being dehydrated. Our first stop was at the Mesa Temple where we met our Mission President, his wife, and had many pictures taken. I remember looking at the temple and thinking that it didn't look like the pictures. I blame the heat-haze because later on in my mission I realized how gorgeous the temple is.

It was only about midday, but all of us were exhausted, and we still had many things to do for the day; training and discussions. I couldn't wait for lunch--none of us could. I had started developing a headache by then and was feeling nauseous. The water didn't help. For anyone who is from Arizona or has had the water, you'll know that it's gross. I'm sorry, but it is, and no one will deny it. So starting to feel sick and knowing that I needed to drink more, I was kind of in a bind.

In my mission, the first day of new missionaries is called Day-Training. The new missionaries get paired up with another companionship and spend the rest of the evening with them. I went with a pair of native Spanish-speaking sisters. Needless to say, with my rusty language skills, I was a bit lost that day.

Our first stop was at a member's home for dinner. The day was hot, and all there was to drink was soda. My anxiety about the food already started to kick in. The lady had a thick Spanish accent--I had no idea what was going on the whole time. She was very sweet, though, and I could tell she loved the missionaries. There were a couple other set of missionaries there as well for dinner, and they all seemed to enjoy being there.

Just imagine this with a huge
dollop of salsa verde. Oh, and
flan for dessert.

Dinner was...unexpected. I'm not exactly sure what it was, but basically it was a type of macaroni and cheese with green salsa on the side. I'm not sure why it was that way, but it didn't help with my nausea. Not only that, trying to be a brave missionary, I accepted another serving of it.

To this day, I still struggle eating pasta.

My anxiety was hitting the uncomfortable level at this point. My stomach was sick, my distorted thinking saw myself gaining weight as the night went on, I was in a place where I didn't know the language, and I had no idea what was going to happen. I could barely focus the rest of the night, and believe me, I tried. However, when 9 o'clock came that night, I was more than ready to go to bed.

Despite being exhausted, I couldn't sleep that night. I felt awful and sick--mentally and physically. I got up several times because of my stomach. The water, in this sisters' apartment, still tasted awful. The worst part of all, was the noise.

I really don't know what it was, but it felt grating, sending goosebumps up my spine and down my arms. The only thing I could think of what it could be was that it was one of the sisters grinding her teeth. I don't know if that is really what it was, but I couldn't sleep, and it went on all night long.

As grateful as I was for night to come, I was even more grateful for the morning to come. We got up at 6:30 am, said our morning prayers, and had our half-hour of exercise. I couldn't wait to run or do something to get the anxiety out of me. Except, these sisters' idea of exercise wasn't running or doing any sort of sport--it was stretching. My first thought was, "is this what all missionaries do for exercise?" If so, I wasn't going to make it. With all my anxiety, I could easily have run a few miles non-stop, but I was stuck in a little apartment, stretching.

Later that morning, all of the Day-Trainers and their new missionaries went to the Mission Office for some words and training before the new missionaries would get their trainers, a companion we would be with for the next 6 weeks. I wasn't feeling at all good, and I told my temporary companions so. They suggested that I get a blessing from the Mission President. We met him before the big meeting and told him the situation. He then proceeded to give me a blessing, one which was very tender and brought me to tears.

The only problem was, when I went to the bathroom to clean up, the tears didn't stop coming. It was the heaving sobs that I had experienced just a couple months before. I couldn't control myself. I don't know how long I was in the bathroom, but I didn't come out for awhile. When I finally did, I sat in the office with the secretary, blotting my runny nose with many tissues.

I wanted to go home. I knew I couldn't, though. If I left right then and there, what would people think of me? No, I had to toughen up. Once I got in the swing of things, everything would feel much better. I put on a brave face and walked back into the church building where the meeting would be held. I tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back the tears, to compose myself. I saw my MTC companion, bright-eyed with excitement. She knew me well enough by then to know I wasn't doing well at all.

I got my first companion then: Hermana Watkins. She was very sweet and very excited to show me around my new area. She had been in this little area in Mesa for several months. She knew the people well, knew the language, and was confident that this would be a good transfer.

We also spoke with the Mission President before heading back to our designated area. He, too, showed the same confidence and excitement that Hermana Watkins had that this would be a good transfer.

I just wish I could have felt that same feeling.