Calling Dr. Who? February 16, 2019
The sign over the door reads:
Sanatorio de Nuestra Sra. de la Salud
Urgencias Medico Quirurgicas
Private Medical Care
Our first couple of weeks in Mexico have been overshadowed with a nasty case of bronchitis which Bruce most likely picked up on the ship. The crew on board had been attentive to health concerns, and hand sanitizers were placed conspicuously around the dining areas. However, it was a sequestered audience - and it happened.
By the time we arrived in San Miguel, Bruce was feeling quite poorly: no energy, not much appetite, convulsive fits of coughing which interrupted his sleep, lots of napping. That first night, as I lay awake listening to his belabored breathing, it occurred to me that we knew no one in San Miguel, we had no idea of how to contact emergency medical help, and I didn't even know our address. Not good.
On our first full day here, fearing pneumonia, Bruce asked a kind restauranteur for a suggestion of a doctor. She sent us off with the phone number of someone who speaks English and who could see him fairly quickly. Sure enough, we were able to schedule an appointment with Dr. Gordillo for the next day.
This is not Bruce's first encounter with a foreign medical system. In fact, thirteen years ago, in France, he had intentionally waited until our arrival in order to seek medical help for a condition that had been plaguing him. That experience had turned out very well and had prepared us for a different system of medical care, one with fewer layers of personnel, for one thing.
Giving ourselves plenty of time and armed with a map, we found Dr. Gordillo's office in the old part of San Miguel, with a door wide open to the street, tucked in among stores and restaurants. Its close proximity to the street meant that patients with mobility problems could walk a very few steps to get into the office. The small entry area had seats for only 2-3 people. A steady stream of patients came and went to see Dr. Gordillo and his brother, also a doctor. There was a good mix of both natives and gringos. Adjoining the space was a tiny pharmacy, very handy - and profitable? - where one could pick up the medications that had just been prescribed. We waited for a short while. Being a people-watcher, I had a chance to see who was availing themselves of these services. Among them were a VERY old Mexican lady, assisted by a young woman, a grand-daughter perhaps; an American fellow, about our age; and a spiffy young Mexican man who looked pretty healthy!
Soon, Dr. Gordillo came out to invite Bruce and me into his office. The first things that I noted were the art in his office - and his clothing. Whereas Bruce's French doctor had been dressed all in black - jeans and a turtleneck, Dr. Gordillo was decked out in orange-red pants, matching sneakers, and a bright blue button-down shirt. He was about 50 years old, tall and trim, and projected a breezy air of confidence. We were ushered into a small office with high ceilings, not terribly tidy. Dr. G. offered us chairs and took his place behind a large glass desk, empty except for a computer. He was fairly personable but efficient, asking Bruce some pertinent questions, including his age. When Bruce responded that he'd be 76 the next day, Dr. G.'s reaction was, "Let's not rush things. You are 75 now." I liked that. Live in the moment.
There were no nurses on hand to take blood pressure and heart rate. As in France, it was a streamlined operation. Dr. G. performed these tasks himself, along with listening to Bruce's breathing. His conclusion: "It's not too bad." We were glad to hear that, even if it was a bit layman-like! He went on to ask what Bruce had been doing to treat himself, including inquiring about "steaming" and gargling. I was impressed that his recommendation included a combination of home remedies, such as these, with more medicinal prescriptions like naproxen. I appreciated his suggestion that I take vitamin C, too, in order to ward off the virus. We left with a printed list of products, to be purchased - at the adjoining pharmacy, of course. He included an antibiotic, to be bought and taken only if these other remedies didn't work after a few days. Well, they didn't!
The birthday boy having pastries just outside our apartment.
He managed to have a delicious birthday lunch at this artsy resto.
Bruce continued to have his terrible coughing jags, along with the rest of his symptoms. He became more and more discouraged as the days dragged on, and we saw our time in San Miguel evaporating. True to our usual pattern, I encouraged patience; Bruce wanted change more quickly and consulted with the internet for further guidance. Finally, he decided to try the antibiotic and sent an email note to Dr. G., advising him of this. The script was for 4 pills only, one a day. And, yay! He began to feel better almost immediately.
Entrance to our apartment complex.
Suddenly, he wanted to eat; he had energy to take a few short outings. His horrible coughing began to abate. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel - and the prospect of getting out and exploring this beautiful city. And, we had survived a medical "event" in a poor country. Though not a terribly serious event, it had caused us to contemplate the tenuous nature of our visits to other lands - and to feel gratitude for the ability to purchase health care at an affordable rate.
Bruce is still not feeling totally well, and we have our fingers crossed that he will be 100% by the end of the month when we go to Guatemala. In the meantime, with only two weeks left in San Miguel, we'll do some "must-see" outings and keep you posted.
Sanatorio de Nuestra Sra. de la Salud
Urgencias Medico Quirurgicas
Private Medical Care
Our first couple of weeks in Mexico have been overshadowed with a nasty case of bronchitis which Bruce most likely picked up on the ship. The crew on board had been attentive to health concerns, and hand sanitizers were placed conspicuously around the dining areas. However, it was a sequestered audience - and it happened.
By the time we arrived in San Miguel, Bruce was feeling quite poorly: no energy, not much appetite, convulsive fits of coughing which interrupted his sleep, lots of napping. That first night, as I lay awake listening to his belabored breathing, it occurred to me that we knew no one in San Miguel, we had no idea of how to contact emergency medical help, and I didn't even know our address. Not good.
On our first full day here, fearing pneumonia, Bruce asked a kind restauranteur for a suggestion of a doctor. She sent us off with the phone number of someone who speaks English and who could see him fairly quickly. Sure enough, we were able to schedule an appointment with Dr. Gordillo for the next day.
This is not Bruce's first encounter with a foreign medical system. In fact, thirteen years ago, in France, he had intentionally waited until our arrival in order to seek medical help for a condition that had been plaguing him. That experience had turned out very well and had prepared us for a different system of medical care, one with fewer layers of personnel, for one thing.
Giving ourselves plenty of time and armed with a map, we found Dr. Gordillo's office in the old part of San Miguel, with a door wide open to the street, tucked in among stores and restaurants. Its close proximity to the street meant that patients with mobility problems could walk a very few steps to get into the office. The small entry area had seats for only 2-3 people. A steady stream of patients came and went to see Dr. Gordillo and his brother, also a doctor. There was a good mix of both natives and gringos. Adjoining the space was a tiny pharmacy, very handy - and profitable? - where one could pick up the medications that had just been prescribed. We waited for a short while. Being a people-watcher, I had a chance to see who was availing themselves of these services. Among them were a VERY old Mexican lady, assisted by a young woman, a grand-daughter perhaps; an American fellow, about our age; and a spiffy young Mexican man who looked pretty healthy!
Soon, Dr. Gordillo came out to invite Bruce and me into his office. The first things that I noted were the art in his office - and his clothing. Whereas Bruce's French doctor had been dressed all in black - jeans and a turtleneck, Dr. Gordillo was decked out in orange-red pants, matching sneakers, and a bright blue button-down shirt. He was about 50 years old, tall and trim, and projected a breezy air of confidence. We were ushered into a small office with high ceilings, not terribly tidy. Dr. G. offered us chairs and took his place behind a large glass desk, empty except for a computer. He was fairly personable but efficient, asking Bruce some pertinent questions, including his age. When Bruce responded that he'd be 76 the next day, Dr. G.'s reaction was, "Let's not rush things. You are 75 now." I liked that. Live in the moment.
There were no nurses on hand to take blood pressure and heart rate. As in France, it was a streamlined operation. Dr. G. performed these tasks himself, along with listening to Bruce's breathing. His conclusion: "It's not too bad." We were glad to hear that, even if it was a bit layman-like! He went on to ask what Bruce had been doing to treat himself, including inquiring about "steaming" and gargling. I was impressed that his recommendation included a combination of home remedies, such as these, with more medicinal prescriptions like naproxen. I appreciated his suggestion that I take vitamin C, too, in order to ward off the virus. We left with a printed list of products, to be purchased - at the adjoining pharmacy, of course. He included an antibiotic, to be bought and taken only if these other remedies didn't work after a few days. Well, they didn't!
Bruce continued to have his terrible coughing jags, along with the rest of his symptoms. He became more and more discouraged as the days dragged on, and we saw our time in San Miguel evaporating. True to our usual pattern, I encouraged patience; Bruce wanted change more quickly and consulted with the internet for further guidance. Finally, he decided to try the antibiotic and sent an email note to Dr. G., advising him of this. The script was for 4 pills only, one a day. And, yay! He began to feel better almost immediately.
Suddenly, he wanted to eat; he had energy to take a few short outings. His horrible coughing began to abate. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel - and the prospect of getting out and exploring this beautiful city. And, we had survived a medical "event" in a poor country. Though not a terribly serious event, it had caused us to contemplate the tenuous nature of our visits to other lands - and to feel gratitude for the ability to purchase health care at an affordable rate.
Bruce is still not feeling totally well, and we have our fingers crossed that he will be 100% by the end of the month when we go to Guatemala. In the meantime, with only two weeks left in San Miguel, we'll do some "must-see" outings and keep you posted.
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