There are about 100 things I want to blog about, like the Radish festival, Ralph's affection for the virgins of Oaxaca, the expat community that seems to have exploded in the past 5 years since we lived here, the pottery tour in Atzompa, and so on, but first, I need to tell you about our first doctor visit.
There will be no pictures.
We were both sick. I had one of those annoying trailing colds that feels like it is getting better but never really does. It had arrived on December 21st and settled in nicely for a few weeks, then seemed to remain but a shadow of itself. Some days my ears would be sore, some days I would be a bit gland-y, but still functioning overall.
We went to the coast on Monday, January 5th, and by Wednesday, the coastal weather had taken whatever bacteria Ralph had brought with him and exploded it to coastal sizes. He was in bed all day Wednesday, barely any food and no cigars. I know. No cigars. It was bad, folks. It was so bad he went 9 days without a cigar or a beer or a glass of wine. Basically, he was on death's door. And yet, I was left unmoved. In my typical fashion, I managed 4 days of feeling a bit sorry for him. He was in bad shape. I made consommé de poulet. I made cookies. I made teas. I bought and administered three different flavors of cough and cold medicine. I did everything around the house. And then I lost my mind. And this meant we needed to find a doctor.
He went to pick up the laundry from the fluff and fold place and told them how sick he was. They told him all he needed was a shot in the ass, and there was a doctor right down the street, maybe three blocks. When he came home and dropped off the laundry, we both walked down the 4 blocks to the doctor's office next to the pharmacy.
The doctor's office is the size of three chairs. Without the front doors left open, there would be no room to sit on the chairs. The doctor was in, so we went right into his little cube of an office. A desk, a bathroom, two plastic consultation chairs, a little examination table, and a scale. We explain what our symptoms are. He takes our temperature (Ralph had a fever, I did not), listens to our chests, takes height and weight, asks us family medical history (blood type, diabetes history, age) and asks if we want an oral antibiotic or a shot. The shot is faster acting (we asked) and so we opt for the shot.
We are sent off in a hurry to the pharmacy next door to fill our prescriptions and told to hurry back as the office is closed between 2 and 4 for siesta. Back in the office we set about dropping our pants (Ralph) or hoisting our skirts (me) and the doctor quickly and unceremoniously injects us in the upper butt check with a generic antibiotic.
We must return for the next three days for a shot each day! In addition to two other type of medication we are required to take at 6 and 8 and 12 hour intervals.
Of course, when we return the following day, the doctor has left (who only knows why) and we must walk three blocks over to the other doctor's office where she requires seeing our prescriptions, which we had not brought with us and need to return home to get, before administering the next shot, in the opposite butt cheek, of course.
We have no idea what we have, or I should say had, as we are now feeling better. I cannot recall a time when my doctor at home offered to give me a shot of antibiotics in the ass for quicker relief of my symptoms. I have no clue what the drug costs would have been in Canada, but here, the doctor's visit was free of charge, and the drugs cost us about 1100 pesos, about 90 Canadian dollars, for all 8 shots of antibiotic, the syringes needed to administer the shots, and all the other drugs we needed.
Time to research and find a general practitioner, before the next shot in the ass is required!
There will be no pictures.
We were both sick. I had one of those annoying trailing colds that feels like it is getting better but never really does. It had arrived on December 21st and settled in nicely for a few weeks, then seemed to remain but a shadow of itself. Some days my ears would be sore, some days I would be a bit gland-y, but still functioning overall.
We went to the coast on Monday, January 5th, and by Wednesday, the coastal weather had taken whatever bacteria Ralph had brought with him and exploded it to coastal sizes. He was in bed all day Wednesday, barely any food and no cigars. I know. No cigars. It was bad, folks. It was so bad he went 9 days without a cigar or a beer or a glass of wine. Basically, he was on death's door. And yet, I was left unmoved. In my typical fashion, I managed 4 days of feeling a bit sorry for him. He was in bad shape. I made consommé de poulet. I made cookies. I made teas. I bought and administered three different flavors of cough and cold medicine. I did everything around the house. And then I lost my mind. And this meant we needed to find a doctor.
He went to pick up the laundry from the fluff and fold place and told them how sick he was. They told him all he needed was a shot in the ass, and there was a doctor right down the street, maybe three blocks. When he came home and dropped off the laundry, we both walked down the 4 blocks to the doctor's office next to the pharmacy.
The doctor's office is the size of three chairs. Without the front doors left open, there would be no room to sit on the chairs. The doctor was in, so we went right into his little cube of an office. A desk, a bathroom, two plastic consultation chairs, a little examination table, and a scale. We explain what our symptoms are. He takes our temperature (Ralph had a fever, I did not), listens to our chests, takes height and weight, asks us family medical history (blood type, diabetes history, age) and asks if we want an oral antibiotic or a shot. The shot is faster acting (we asked) and so we opt for the shot.
We are sent off in a hurry to the pharmacy next door to fill our prescriptions and told to hurry back as the office is closed between 2 and 4 for siesta. Back in the office we set about dropping our pants (Ralph) or hoisting our skirts (me) and the doctor quickly and unceremoniously injects us in the upper butt check with a generic antibiotic.
We must return for the next three days for a shot each day! In addition to two other type of medication we are required to take at 6 and 8 and 12 hour intervals.
Of course, when we return the following day, the doctor has left (who only knows why) and we must walk three blocks over to the other doctor's office where she requires seeing our prescriptions, which we had not brought with us and need to return home to get, before administering the next shot, in the opposite butt cheek, of course.
We have no idea what we have, or I should say had, as we are now feeling better. I cannot recall a time when my doctor at home offered to give me a shot of antibiotics in the ass for quicker relief of my symptoms. I have no clue what the drug costs would have been in Canada, but here, the doctor's visit was free of charge, and the drugs cost us about 1100 pesos, about 90 Canadian dollars, for all 8 shots of antibiotic, the syringes needed to administer the shots, and all the other drugs we needed.
Time to research and find a general practitioner, before the next shot in the ass is required!
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