I bit the financial bullet today and called a cab to take me to El Hospital de Mexico, which contrary to what you might expect, is not in Mexico but in San Jose, Costa Rica. I was lucky in that my cab driver-
gerry- had spent about a decade in New Jersey and had a charming Jersey accent to his english. He quoted me a fare of $60 US for the trip, said he'd wait until I either finished at the hospital/or he got another fare, and take me back to the casa on the ridge.
I put a great deal of thought into deciding to go or not...my basic spanish..my very little basic spanish, does not include the words for diarrhea or nausea or fever. Fortunately my trusty Lonely Planet Guide to Costa Rica Spanish (available at Amazon.com) does have these and other important words.
Gerry arrived at noon on the dot, packed me into his cab along with a change of clothes..ok a couple of changes of clothes and a couple of towels to sit on...just in case...my computer and a book and we headed off to Mexico to check out the E.R. I was hoping for a Costa Rica version of Dr Ross but instead I eventually met a very short and quite homely but nice man named Dr Jesus. If I was religions this could either bring confidence or scare the hell out of me. All it did was make me work hard to pronounce his name correctly.
Costa Rica has a National Health Care plan..you might know it as the dreaded Socialized Medicine that has been discussed ad nauseum during the recent elections. It's similar to that in Canada and the U.K. I suppose in that everyone belongs, everyone pays the same premium and everyone gets treated the same. And, because this is Costa Rica, that includes long lines and patience development opportunities.
Upon arriving, Gerry bullied us to the front of the line, loudly lamenting the sick norteamericano senora - line cutting is not something I am comfortable doing but by then I had changed my pants in the back of the cab even though it was just a 40 minute drive. He quickly, rapido, explained that i was "muy enfermo con diarrea y nausea".
Well. I think I can make myself understood after all. That was much easier than I thought it was going to be. Different accents on different syllable but, by George, I think I got it!
However I was embarrassed by the line of people who stood behind me and who had been patiently waiting for their turn when I did the Ugly American thing, with Gerrys's help, by acting 'better than' and cutting in. It appears that isn't as much of a problem in the sala de urgencias because no one complained to him and I received a nice pat on my shoulder from a woman who appeared to be in her 80s, macha pequeño pobre she said..poor little blondie. I was at least a foot taller than she, but I was obviously in dire conditions.
As I stood there trying to fill out the form and waving my tarjeta de visa because I do know how to get attention, I had another blast of the poops. It ran down the leg of my capris and onto the floor. Then I gracefully puked on the nice old lady. They quickly removed me to one of the many curtained off cubbies and threw in a set of scrubs for me, along with a towel.
side note There appears to not be a need for wash cloths in Costa Rica, by the way. I brought a yard of flannel with me and tore it into squares for multi purpose cloths...cheaper and easier to pack that wash cloths...just a hint.
So back to the sala de urgencias curtain area diaz, where I am furtively trying to wash out my messed panties and capris in the sink-wishing I'd brought a plastic bag to stuff them into and considering just depositing everything into the trash. After about an hour, Gerry dropped by and said he had a fare..I was on my own and still had not seen anyone. No nurse or doctor or janitor to mop up the water spilled around the sink.
Eventually Dr. Jesus walked in, introduced himself and began talking to me in swift spanish.
"Slower, please hable lentamente" I asked in my hesitant and possibly wrong spanish.
He spoke slower but I still didn't get it.
"Diarrhea and Nausea", I said "Muy grande diarrhea".
He laughed, but I think he understood. "Had I eaten? Could I hold agua?"
"No no agua, no comida, dos dias" I replied
"Uno momento, por favor, senora" And Jesus left the room.
An hour later he came by with a small box. Inside were packed 15 tablets in bubble containers. Cipro. Boy I guess I really was sick.
" Take 2 now, take one a day for 12 days. But spend the night here con liquido." I understood, I thought.
A long while later, a nurse came with a wheelchair to take me to a ward. I got a clean johnny gown - the ones with no back - and was hooked to an I.V. Con liquido didn't mean drinking a lot of water..it meant an IV.
I thought about all the money I was probably spending on the E.R. visit and a night in the hospital on an I.V. I remembered I hadn't fed the dog before I left. No phone, so I couldn't call the neighbor to feed him. Oh well-can't do anything about it now.
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