Sick in Mexico

I haven’t written much of anything in the past three weeks and I can almost hear my fingers creaking as they work the keyboard. Never again should I go so long without putting words on page, it’s just not healthy.

It’s only halfway my fault though. A lot has happened in the past few weeks: I went on a resort vacation (and liked it!), saw humpback whales and visited the scene of this famous pinterest picture. I had my in-laws in town and played tour guide for a week, despite uncharacteristic pouring rain (thanks a lot Sayulita). I rang in New Years setting off sky lanterns on the beach with hundreds of others which was soggy, but beautiful.

And then, just when I had planned to get back to work and start writing up all these adventures, I got sick. At first I thought it was just a cold, but it got worse, not better. I had a half-baked idea I might have dengue, but the symptoms didn’t fit. Maybe the flu? Whatever was going on I felt like total crap and could barely string a sentence together much less write a blog post.

After several nights of listening to me sniffle and cough with a temperature of 100+, Mike insisted I see a doctor. I dragged my feet, but it was definitely the right call. It took the doctor about 30 seconds to diagnose me with a bronchitis, tonsillitis and a double ear infection. Basically my entire head was an infected, phlegm-filled, feverish mess (that’s a lovely image isn’t it?).

Not the drugs people usually associate with Mexico

This is actually the first time I’ve had to visit a doctor for illness since I left my job in 2010. I haven’t had an ear infection since I was ten and I have no idea what made my nasty cold morph into all of that. The last thing I expected while hiding out in Mexico was to get hit with a winter-illness triple whammy. I mean, what good is avoiding a polar vortex when you have the chills anyway?

Side note: how much is it to see a doctor without insurance in the United States? Here in Mexico it cost me 200 pesos, roughly $15.

After proper treatment and actual quality sleep I am already feeling a million times better. I’m ready to get back to work, which is good since I have a million scary deadlines looming over my head. There may be a delay in getting posts up here but hopefully things will be back to normal soon.

Have you ever gotten sick on the road?


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23 thoughts on “Sick in Mexico”

  1. Paris. 1981. The absolute worst two days of my life. A friend and I hopped on the train in Freiburg, Germany. We had to switch trains in Lyon and had a bit of a lay-over. I was hungry so I purchased a cheese and ham baguette at a little stand in the station. It tasted a little “off” but I choked it down anyway. We got to Paris and were walking from the train station to the hostel when I started to feel a little dizzy. No bother- I purchased a bottled water, sat down a while on a park bench then continued on. We got to the hostel and my friend looks at me and says “You don’t look so well.” That was an understatement. I was pale as a ghost and shivering like it was twenty below zero in there. We get to the ten bunk dorm, grab the last remaining bunk and I laid down. And stayed down. For two days of feverish shaking, aching all over and vomiting my guts out. I couldn’t keep anything down. And the hostel was OH SO GRACIOUS! The manager kept popping in the dorm, insisting that I shouldn’t be there because I would get everyone sick. My friend kept telling him it was food poisoning but he wouldn’t hear none of that. The second day, around four in the afternoon, the manager came up to the dorm again insisting that I leave. I could barely stand up. My friend called a cab (which neither of us could afford) and when the cab arrived my friend explained to the driver what had happened and asked if he could take us as close to the train station as we could afford. Well, the driver- who was from Ghana- not only chewed out the hostel manager for kicking us out but he took us to his apartment and offered up his couch for us for the night then said he would take us no charge to the train station the next day. The driver’s wife made me some herbal broth which I not only managed to keep down, but which made me feel much better. The next morning, as promised, we were taken to the train station and back to Freiburg we went. I never went back to Paris. Ever.

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