Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

The Transition99this, but I was still plagued by whatever bug it was that infected all ofus. That next morning the FARC came in and insisted that they weregoing to perform a procedure on me. Tom translated for me what theirintentions were,“Tell them HELL NO,” I said.“They say all they’re going to do is massage your stomach,” Tomreplied“Fuck that. Not now. Not ever.”“They say they need to do it. They need to fix your stomach.”I remembered Johnny and some of the good work he’d done on allof us. I wished that he was there, but he wasn’t. Finally I gave in. Theyhad me lie on the floor on my back and applied some kind of oil to mystomach. Then two pretty powerful guys began pushing on my stomach,starting at the top and then working their way down toward mynavel. The pain was intense. It was as if they thought they could forcewhatever was in the top of my intestine down and out of me throughmy colon. They were literally squeezing the shit out of me.This went on for ten minutes or so. When they stopped I felt better,but only because they’d stopped. Next, two of the stronger guys liftedme up by my feet and dangled me upside down, holding me a fewinches off the floor. As I hung there, they lifted me up a bit higher andshook me, dropping me a few inches and then raising me again like astubborn ketchup bottle. After they were done with the shaking, theytook a large bandanna or scarf, and they tied that around my stomach,torquing it so tight I could barely breathe. When they lowered me tothe floor again, they said I had to leave what was essentially a kind oftourniquet on my gut for the next twenty-four hours.After they left, the three of us started talking about their “cure.”“That was almost prehistoric, Keith,” Marc said. “Where would youlearn something like that?”“Folk medicine,” Tom said, “Not covered by your health plan, butwho knows? Maybe it’ll do you some good.”