Is Belize Putting Arsenic In My Coffee?

I often think of Belize as a beautiful, exotic woman, one who I admired long before I got to know her well. Belize’s history is mysterious, her culture is fascinating and amazing, and her terrain is filled with a wide array of beauty and environmental riches. And she graciously welcomed us into her community and has allowed dear hubby and I to live a lifestyle we could only have hoped for prior to our move here.

She has been especially good to dear hubby, allowing the business he started here to grow by leaps and bounds, along with his favorable reputation in the village as a “plumbing angel.” She also helped him lose nearly 50 pounds easily, while I’ve continued to struggle losing 15 or 20, or even remain healthy at all.

But sometimes I get a nagging suspicion that Belize has been so kind and generous to dear hubby, and not so much to me, because she would like to force me out of the way and have him all to herself. Matter of fact, I think maybe she’s been quietly trying to get rid of me by sneaking arsenic in my coffee for the last 18 months.

 Okay, I know it’s weird to think of your newly adopted country as a beautiful but sinfully devious woman who’s slowly trying to kill you, or at least send you running back home, just to “steal” your dear hubby like a mistress might do to a wife. It’s awkward and ridiculous to even put into words, but nevertheless, it’s the way I’ve started to feel.

It was only a little more than a month after our move to Placencia that I got the first faint taste of her arsenic. I was awakened about 5 a.m. by a fast, sharp pain in my chest, and a distinct burning sensation. My tongue and face went numb, and my body ached. Oh DEAR GOD-I’d been stung by a scorpion. I was safe in bed, sleeping with dear hubby and two tiny, helpless dogs--but Belize’s pet scorpion chose me as its victim. I was only sick for a day or so, but the sting will haunt my nights forever. And I’m sure Belize was hiding under the bed, silently laughing with that scorpion for days.

Only a month or two later, Belize slipped her poison to me in a different manner through an unseen cohort. What originally appeared as a minor bug bite turned into a huge, oozing, decaying crater. Turns out it was a spider-bite of the poisonous variety, most likely of the brown-recluse family. Luckily there was a salve that stopped the necrotizing and saved my wrist after weeks of searing pain, but the scars are deep and ugly and I keep them covered in public to this day. I imagine Belize snickering in the shadows each day as I put on the decorative, finely woven bracelet I had crafted by a local artisan to cover the evidence of her wicked prank.

A few months after that, Belize injected her poison directly into my bloodstream via tiny insects, which attacked me so viciously I developed a serious infection and a major allergy to their bites. My face, arms, and legs began to look like I had leprosy. Turns out it was their poison and infection trying to fight it’s way out of my body. Of course, her delivery was so sly and sneaky, it took us months and several doctor visits to figure out what was going on. I often thought I tasted the poison in the back of my mouth during those months as I shifted lazily from bed to couch and bed again, I just didn’t recognize the flavor. I can only imagine Belize’s hidden delight as she watched those invisible insects gnaw at my tender flesh while I slept.

Her latest attempt to force me to run was delivered most recently via another malicious insect. This winged predator must be named after the person you’ll want to see when it bites you: a “Doctor” fly. Generous soul that she is, Belize sent three of them to me the first time. One bite is enough to send some people into allergic overload, as it did for me, but a fourth bite a few days later almost sent me to the hospital. After days in bed unable to move because every joint in my body was screaming with pain, and a round of the strongest antibiotics I’ve taken to date, the giant lumps of infection started to subside. My joints were released from their agony but in my drug-induced haze, I’m pretty sure I saw Belize hiding in the corner of my bedroom, chuckling at her ingenuity.

I didn’t taste the toxin in the beginning because it was disguised by her beautiful presentation and the sweetness of her brew. Over time, however, the tainted nature of her beverage has become more apparent. And sometimes when the house is dark and the night is silent, I fear that if I ever return to my motherland, it may only be to die a painful, poisoned death. Lady Liberty will only be able to hold me stiffly in her stony arms as I draw my last anguished breath, crying out, “Why did Belize try to kill me? I was the one who loved her first! He only loved her because of the simple and HEALTHY lifestyle we thought she would provide for ME!  But I loved her MOST!!!”

My suspicion of Belize’s intentions for me is growing. She is still beautiful, and I think I still love her, but I have caught glimpses of the ugliness underneath her veil. I once thought Belize and I were allies, finding common ground in our love for dear hubby and our wish for a simple, healthy life, but now I’m beginning to think she’s the worst kind of friend, a traitor and a backstabber. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Belize, and I know there is goodness in her soul somewhere. But right now, I still have the coppery taste of her poison in the back of my throat.

So although I’ll still be friendly, wave to her in the neighborhood, and even talk to her on the street, I think I’m going to stop inviting Belize over for coffee, at least for a while. I’ve found I don’t like the taste of arsenic.