Last night I hypothesized that I might die, effectively having my respiratory functions cut off by a sweet sluice of mucous and swelling throat tissue. Had I been a patient on House I’m sure that they’d have intubated me…oh…wait–they do that to nearly every patient, anyway. (grin) So, I NyQuiled myself and went to bed because by ten p.m. or so, I’d decided that whether I lived or died really didn’t matter much. Needless to say it was very exciting to wake up today and to know that perhaps I can look forward to a more honorable, less gooey death in the future. Yay!
So–on to my medical adventure! This morning I sucked it up and actually went to the doctor of my own volition. I’d been balking for a few days because I was very afraid I’d be unable to effectively communicate in Spanish all of my medicinal allergies and symptoms. I’m very glad I went, though, because it turned out to be the most pleasant doctor’s visit of my meager 22 years.
Around 11 this morning I took myself to a clinic near retiro park. Wielding on a paper in the palm of my hand all of the Spanish translations of the antibiotics to which I am allergic and my panoply of glorious symptoms, I arrived at Calle Conde de Aranda 1 and was pleasantly surprised to find myself in an antique building, painted doctors’-scrubs green, with beautiful wainscoting, high ceilings, and a parlor of a waiting room that’d do the stuffiest of British nannies proud. To my relief, everyone there from the receptionist, to the Doctor himself, to the secretary spoke perfect English and took care of me right away. My doctor, a dignified and kindly old gentleman by the name of Marcos Brundhi, asked about my symptoms, took a closer look at me and said, “Ah. I see. You have everything.” Oh, said my internal monologue, oh. This is not news to me.
One diagnosis of an upper respiratory infection, sinus infection and (drumroll, please!) PINK EYE later, plus 150 euros dropped between the medical center and the pharmacy, I am back in the residencia. I’ve got three different kinds of medicine to take and a promise from Dr. Marcos that I should be feeling better in two or three days. It was a good experience, and though Ryan was sweet and willing to come with me to help translate, I’m glad I figured it out by myself. I knew I’d have to go to the doctor eventually, but I hadn’t expected it to be so soon after I got here. Upon touching Spanish turf I imagine my greedy body must have been gleefully chattering to itself “OOOH! New exotic diseases! Must. collect. them all!” Well me and my boatload of Spanish meds are making it give up its three hard-won players: Mucous Mutant, Sinusitis Superborg and Conjunctiva Crusher.
Anyhow, I’m currently doing my last load of laundry here at the residencia, then sitting back and taking it easy on myself. Post-lunch I’m going to try to pack up my things, being as I need to be out of here by tomorrow, and then prepare to schlepp my stuff over to my new apartment–the stuff that I won’t need for the next 10 days when I’ll be sleeping at another residencia across town, that is. Goddamn this has been an expensive month.
I’m feeling very lucky to be checked in on by some kind fellow Fulbrighters, doing passably well holding forth against occasional flash-floods of post-nasal drip, and, for once, taking it easy on my body. I’ll be around, skulking on IM today, so hollar at me. I know that you know that you want to.