I decided today to change my role for, more or less, the next 30 days. I have several things I need to take care of and just thought I would tell you formally that I am going to take a break. I will move from the role of blogger to at most lurker. I will try to respond to emails and comments, if I can, but it is my plan to take a hiatus from my normal posting.
If this is your first time to visit Chiriquí Chatter, then you will have an opportunity to thoroughly go through the archives and link sections. Probably the most thought provoking and informational part of Chiriquí Chatter is found buried within the comments to various posts. I have always felt that it was the activity of the comments that have kept most people returning for another read.
For those of you who have loyally returned again and again to find out what was oozing from my mind that day, I just felt you should have something definite to count on. Today is June 22 and I promise to return at least by July 22.
I know a few of you out there may be wondering if my taking a break is really necessary and, even if a break is necessary, why a full 30 days.
Maybe this little story will is the best way I can illustrate that the break is needed, and 30 days is a bare minimum.
Once upon a time, there was this blogger. He constantly was on the lookout for the next thing to post on his blog. Sometimes it was informational. Sometimes it was photos. Sometimes it was his own version of poetry.
And then it happened. For no apparent reason he suddenly started suffering from an affliction that he would not have wished on his worst enemy. FLATULANCE! Yes, you read correctly – FLATULANCE.
Now you may be thinking, shoot that has happened to me from time to time, but it is nothing to really worry about. It will pass – so to speak.
But as I tell you more, you will see that this was really a worrisome problem and it really became more worrisome as time went by.
In the beginning, he wasn’t sure, but he thought his senses were beginning to fail him. He would feel small gastric disturbances and and in the “end” a small flatulence would emerge. What was strange, was that the sound that he thought he heard appeared to be “Hoonnda”.
At first he was able to control his problem in crowds. He recalled to me about being at a party shortly after this problem had began. He was is a pensive conversation with this attractive lady when it hit him. Still having pretty good control, he thought it had slipped out unnoticed, when she asked him, “Did you hear that”? “Hear what?”, he responded. She said I thought I heard someone whisper “Honda”. He told her that he had heard nothing, but he knew exactly what it was. He was so embarrassed.
And over time it began to grow worse. Sometimes the smell of car exhaust fumes would waft through the air. It was during one of these moments, that he knew that he needed help. He promised himself that the first thing he would do Monday, would be to seek medical advice.
He went to countless doctors in the US and none could relieve him of his problem. They were more than happy to relieve him of his money, prescribe this and that, and tell him to return the next week to see if there was any improvement.
He finally decided to let technology be his friend and he went to his trusty PC and Googled for “Flatulence goes Honda”. Most of the entries for his search didn’t help, but on the third page he found an entry for a physician in Panama that sounded promising.
He immediately made travel reservations. He had to fly to Panama City and then he had to take a small commuter airplane to a city, in the western Provence of Chiriquí, that was called David. He had the taxi driver, at the airport, take him to his hotel and was hopeful that he was going to find in David, what he had been unable to find in the US, relief from this embarrassing problem.
The next morning, he arose, ate a good Panamanian breakfast, returned to his room and prepared to go to the appointment that he had made before leaving the states. He flagged down a taxi and handed him the conformation email he had received that gave directions on how to get to the physician’s office.
The taxi driver, read the note and drove him to a new office complex, several blocks from his hotel, and parked in front of what appeared to be a dental clinic. “There must be some mistake”, he thought, but the taxi driver was very insistent that this was the place so the blogger got out of the taxi, took a deep breath and entered the clinic.
He had previously described his problem to the physician, who he now knew was really a dentist, so when he was lead to the dental chair there was nothing for him to do but open his mouth.
When he did, the nice looking dentist, told him in broken English, that he had an abscessed tooth and when it was removed, his problem would be gone. He was bewildered. However, when she tapped on the tooth, it sent a sharp pain right to the center of his brain and he realized that he did indeed have a bad tooth.
She gave him a shot of pain killer and another of antibiotic and proceeded to remove the tooth. With his lip was still numb and his speech a little slurred, he asked her how she was able to know by reading his email descriptions, that he had an abscessed tooth and why she was so sure that its removal would be the end of his flatulence.
She just smiled and said she thought that everyone knew that “Abscess makes the fart go Honda”.