Day -1: The Hotel

We finally arrive at the hotel and as I give my name to the front desk, a man besides me reaches out and offers me his hand.

“Hi, I’m Jasper.” He’s got ruddy skin, reminiscent of old acne scars, and he looks dry and tired. He’s not exactly glowing with health, but he sure looks better than that man on the train.

We make our introductions and decide to meet in a few hours to share a taxi to the clinic. I watch Jasper as he walks away. He is average height, shorter than me, his shirt frayed at the collar.  It’s kind of an intimate thing, getting hookworms from someone. The larvae I receive tomorrow have parents, sucking on Jasper, right now!

This is just bizarre.

My husband and I go to our room. The hotel is fancy – the staff so eager to please, the pool stretched out across the courtyard, tempting with its smooth blue waters. I collapse onto the bed. I have made it! My first trip to Mexico. I feel some trepidation – what if I get something different? I asked for proof of safety. Jasper is called a “reservoir donor” in laboratory terms. The reservoir donor should be tested every few months for transmissible viruses, bacteria, even though there isn’t any evidence that hookworms pass on communicable diseases. Jasper does not provide this to me.  I almost change my mind.   How do I know I won’t get AIDS, hepatitis, elephantitis from Jasper’s initial foray into Africa? What if this whole thing is a sham and I’ve given $7,800 of my hard earned credit card, and I’ll return with nothing but a wet band-aid, caught by charlatans like my father said?  What if he gives me ancylostoma instead of Necator?  When in Africa, that would have been the species he caught.  How can I know he safely eliminated ancylostoma? The larvae can only be differentiated under the microscope, and I am no parasitologist, I couldn’t possibly tell.  What am I doing?  I am taking such enormous risk.

I watch Spanish commercials, my heart racing, until we shuffle out to the lobby to meet our hookwormed host.