Mexican Medicine Is Muy Bueno

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Naw, I thought. I’d been tortured by no-see-ums before and this was different.

By day two, the bumps were about one-sixteenth of an inch apart, completely covered the tops of my feet, and had moved up my lower legs to my kneecaps. That night was torture—I scratched my legs and feet until they bled.

The next day, I set off for nearby Zihuatanejo to look for a farmacia staffed by a clerk who spoke at least a little English and got lucky. The clerk looked at the bumps and sold me some cortisone cream.

I asked if I might use the bathroom to wash off the Benadryl I’d been using before applying the cortisone, but none was available. Instead, this angel of mercy brought me a bucket of clean water so I could rinse my legs in the street, then came outside and unlocked her car so I could sit on her backseat to finish.

Ah, may good things come to that woman, I thought.

Washing my legs in a bucket on the street was not a planned highlight of my trip but at least I would soon be on my way to recovery.

Unfortunately, that was a bit too optimistic. The cortisone helped but it unfortunately didn’t cure me.

By early evening on day three, I was miserable enough to bite the bullet and see a doctor, although I dreaded both the thought of handing over a chunk of my vacation pesos and visiting a clinic where a bucket of clean water might be the most for which I could hope.

We went to a doctor’s office which our casa host had recommended but it was closed. I then headed to the tidy farmacia next door and began what had become my usual pantomime and broken Spanish combination description of my problem.

The clerk shook her head in the universal gesture of incomprehension and summoned a kindly looking man. I found a sentence in my dictionary that read, “I need an English-speaking doctor,” which I showed him and which he read a few times before going off to get his reading glasses (sort of the visual equivalent of speaking louder when someone doesn’t understand you).

He read the sentence again and peered at me over his glasses. I was doing my pantomime and babbling away.

He said gravely, “You are looking for a doctor? I am a doctor.”

The two of us couldn’t help but laugh. Then he examined me. He handled my legs gently, running his fingers over the bumps. He said something about allergia and produced an antihistamine and a strong cortisone cream. He wrote out instructions and gave them to me with his bill. I did a double-take.

Sixty bucks for an after-hours visit and two prescriptions—it may not be as cheap as seeing a doctor in Thailand but without insurance, it’s much better that the going rate in the United States.

We walked back to our casa and told our hostess about my doctor visit. She burst into laughter and told me that the doctor who had seen me was a sex specialist. Who knows what Dr. Sex thought my pantomiming meant?

I’ve since found that I had a fairly rare reaction to the “long” ultraviolet rays of the sun, commonly called sun allergy or sun poisoning. This was what the Mexican doctor was trying to tell me in vain.

Mexican Insurance

If you’re planning an extended stay in Mexico, look into the national insurance plan (IMSS). It costs $225-$399 USD, and pre-existing conditions won’t be covered for about two years. Otherwise, after a waiting period, you are completely covered—medical, dental, eyeglasses and prescription drugs. Simply walk into a clinic or hospital and get everything you need, from a general checkup to major surgery.

“For a regular visit to my personal GP [general physician], I get charged $8, and I get seen by my doctor, not the nurse,” Expat Jerry Draughon said.

“Doctors here seem to really care about you as a person,” he added.

Lesson Learned

Had I not been apprehensive about dropping pesos on a doctor and gone to the medico as soon the bumps arrived, I would have paid about $20 USD and felt fine by the second day of my vacation, rather than just starting to improve by the fourth day and paying extra for an after-hours visit.

Mexican medicine is safe, reliable and cheap so next time you’re there, don’t bother with a farmacia and then get on with enjoying yourself.

Kathleen Crislip is a freelance writer with pieces published or being published in Home Cooking, El Restaurante Mexicano, LowCarb Energy, the Jackson Hole Guide and more.

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