I’ve never struck oil before. I imagine however, that the feeling of discovery can’t be all that different than drawing blood. My patient comes in, and I immediately size up the juiciness of the arm veins. I tell them it won’t hurt, and that it will be quick. I don’t tell them that I’m secretly thrilled to tap their life liquid and check it out under my microscope. Out come a needle and test tube. I pinch the two together with my forefinger and ease in the metal. Red eases out. Success. I make a smear on a microscope slide, stain the slide, and evaluate my patients leukocyte army under my scope. There is a disproportionate amount of eosinophils. The verdict is clear: parasites.

This is an all too common verdict here in Peru, but I’m all too happy to render it, and to fight this adversary. As a third year chemistry and biology student, I recently got a dream assignment here in Peru. I was given a two week crash course in hematology, parasitology, and urology, then, armed with some archaic donated lab equipment, was sent deep into the jungle of Peru to be of use during a medical clinic. I could hardly contain my excitement as I first stepped through the crowded waiting room, armed with my microscope and centrifuge: an arsenal ready to battle infirmity. It was an excitement that never died down that week; even when they started bringing me poop.

The poop came slow at first. Doc had ordered a stool test for one patient. The lad shyly handed over his sample jar, and I took it at arms length. I said “gracias” as sincerely as I could, but my eyes didn’t light up as my nose did. The patient didn’t even try to smile. I gingerly dipped the poop on a slide with a popsicle stick and placed it on the platform. I peered down at the green slop and into the world of parasites. Aliens in all different shapes and sizes peered back. Some were easy to identify, while others were so camouflaged that a focus a fraction of a mm off rendered them invisible. My lab partner, Kevin, and I found four parasites in the first patient’s sample, and the hunt was on.

Dozens and dozens more patients brought us their poop. Some in old pill jars and some in zip lock bags. And the smells, oh the smells. The lab, and us, were steeped in the smells of various body liquids and solids. Other humans didn’t want to interact with us, save for a poop hand off, or a blood drawing.

But none of this mattered to Kevin and I. The more poop we saw the better we became at snipping out parasites, even Guardia: the ultimate prize for the parasite hunter. It needs a special stain solution; it is entirely clear and excruciatingly small. The first time I found it, and had my discovery confirmed by our clinic doctor, I felt I did many years ago, when I discovered a Chipper Jones rookie card in a random baseball card pack I bought at wall mart. But this discovery was even better. Because as I peered down at the tiny form in my scope, I got to whisper, “your friends are all gonna´ die soon,” knowing that my patient would be liberated from the pests with much needed medicine. As a parasite hunter, you fight for your patient.

That’s not to say that we were error free lab techs. There was the pregnancy test fiasco. When the first woman, a girl of 17, came to us for a pregnancy test, we dug around a box and found some generic looking pregnancy tests with no instructions. After obtaining urine from the suspectant mother, we plunged in one of the sticks and waited. A single red line appeared near the top of the stick. Kevin and I looked at each other, and shrugged our shoulders, clueless as to the sticks meaning. “Maybe we should flip a coin?” I ventured. Kevin suggested we ask the doc. So, in one of those fleeting moments as he rushed between rooms, we shoved the stick in front of him. “Positive,” he said. So, I rehearsed quickly on one of our SM nurses (who also confirmed the result as positive) what I would say to the seventeen year old. Then, I broke the news to her. Her face lit up into a smile and rushed out of the room. (Realize that here, if a girl hasn’t had a baby by twenty, she is looked upon a little strangely).

Four of these positive test results down the road, my infinitely wise lab cohort suggested we test his urine so we would know what a negative test result looked like. So, after he had done his business, we plunged the stick into the liquid, and three minutes later a red line appeared near the top, no different than the last four “positive” tests. There were two options. One was that we had given out four false positives and that four women were now preparing for babies that they will never have. And the other option. . . . .well, Kevin said he would name his baby after me. So we fixed the system, and not a moment too soon. The very next pregnancy candidate, upon hearing that the test was negative (what would have been read by us as a positive moments before) looked to be infinitely relieved.

So, errors and all, and smelling like out-houses, we made it through the week. I loved contributing to the medical team. What’s more, is I felt like I had, in a literal sense, got to know the patients better, more intimately, than anyone else. We had exposed their afflictions under our microscope, afflictions that would not harm them any longer for the time being with the right meds. I thought it ironic, that a few months ago, I used microscopes and centrifuges to receive only a letter grade in a class. The opportunity I had to take what I learned in academia and use it to practically help folks out is something I will remember long time. Long after my scrubs smell nice again.