La Clínica

Last week I was sick all week. We think I got a bad bacterial infection from lunch at the 27 charcos, but never learned much more than that. Anyway, Sunday morning I had diarrhea. That evening I was chatting on MSN with Pat at the internet cafe, where there is AC, and started to get very cold. I didn't think much of it at first, but then I was shivering and my teeth were chattering the whole walk home. That night I had the worst fever I can remember having in a long time. I took Tylenol, but it was still pretty bad. I got up once to go to the bathroom and could barely stand up.
Since my fever was gone in the morning, I went ahead with my plans to go to see the oncologist in Santiago. It was pretty aweful. I was nauseous the whole way--we took two guaguas to get there--then we waited for awhile while I tried to stay awake, and then found out the doctor couldn't see me because he had too many patients. I wasn't very happy about it, but I was a little too distracted to complain. The next day I thought I would be able to make it through class, but no dice. Christine took me to the clinic for tests and four hours later I was heade back to stay for two nights.

As much as I disliked being there, it was, I supposed a good experience for me to have. Partly I was tired and sick and miserable, just because of my symptoms. I also had never had an IV before and disliked it greatly. I wanted to write in my journal, but the IV was in my right wrist. I still have a bruise there. But part of the frustration was a lack of communication. It was difficult for me to speak Spanish with the nurses who didn't really have patience for me. There also seems to be an aspect of the culture here that doctors don't expect to have to communicate with their patients. We had to work to find out what disease I had, and they never explained how they knew or why I needed the treatment I did. I had to ask specifically to find out what meds I was on. I never was asked if I had allergies, but I made a point to say I was allergic to sulfa drugs (though we had to show the nurse the word in the medical dictionary, as she wasn't familiar with it). When I left, they had already filled my prescription and billed me for it without discussing the medications with me. One of them actually was a sulfonamide, and I decided to take it anyway. Apparently I'm not allergic anymore.
We almost never discussed my symptoms. When I mentioned I was nauseous, I was given a calmante--in this case a sedative--directly into my IV without being told what it was. I wish they had told me. I basically passed out for half an hour, and when I woke up my right arm was in pain and I had a strange prickly feeling all over. Christine and Elizabeth walked in to me rocking back and forth, wincing and holding my right arm.
I asked the nurse the second day if I would be able to go home that day. She didn't seem to know exactly, but she said she thought I couldn't go if I still have diarrhea. After she left, Mark looked at his buddy from peace corps and they both laughed. "Never!" he said. "I haven't had a solid shit since peace corps."
Last note: the food was aweful. The soup tasted like oily sewage and breakfast was a stale hot dog bun with butter and cheese. Not that I could keep any of it down anyway. I couldn't even keep gatorade down. But I read a lot, watched movies dubbed in Spanish, slept and talked with the people who came to visit me.
On Thursday afternoon I went home. Without anyone really visiting though, I think I was more homesick that weekend than in the clinic. I almost went to go hiking on Saturday, but then I puked on the street corner before we left. So I was pretty bummed that day. By Sunday I wanted to go home. But Monday we had the last of our class, and by the time we go to the campo on Tuesday I was feeling great.