As I was driving by a local hospital on the north side of town yesterday I saw a very interesting site. On the curb there was a thin man sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette. Now that may not seem odd at all but the fact that he was wear FULL scrubs including booties, hat and face mask (which was pulled down onto his chin) made for a very interesting site. This reminded me of a story from 2006. Before I get to the story may I just ask what this guy was in scrubs for?? I should hope he wasn't just grabbing a quick smoke then heading back into surgery. Maybe he was protecting himself from all the white trash that generally surrounds that area. I don't know but for years to come this picture will be in my mind. Also, is anyone else wondering how flammable scrubs are? I would have seriously crapped my pants if a stray ash lit up his face mask and he went up like a torch. I wouldn't have helped either, I would have just rolled down my window and yelled "smoking kills asshole" and kept going.
In the year 2006 my dear friend was celebrating her one year wedding anniversary with a trip to Mexico. To protect the identify of all I will only be referring to her as Jersey Girl and to her fine husband as Big Head. Being the good friend that I am I quickly invited my husband and I alone for the festivities. Many great memories were made on our 7 day stay. I am sure I will post more of them as time goes on. Today I want to just relay to you the story of the bladder infection.
After a night filled with tequila shots, buckets of beers and the discovery that Jersey Girl and I, if forced to live the lives of lap dancing bar girls, would quickly form a union for lap dancers (since it is hard work and the songs are at times way to long to make for a good lap dance) we headed out into the night with our drunken husbands. After walking a couple hundred yards I decided it was now time to pee since I tried my hardest to avoid the Mexican public bathrooms. While squatting by a palm tree (doesn't this just sound tropical!) peeing I got a sharp pain. After discussing this pain with Jersey Girl it was decided I was developing a urinary track infection and needed some juice, thank goodness for mixers cuz our fridge was loaded at the condo. After a run in with a scary mob of locals, an embarrassing cab ride home in which my husband mortified me with our fellow cab riders (another story) we made it back to our place. By the time I got in I was SICK. I was shaking, had a fever and was peeing blood. Jersey Girl and Big Head had gone to bed and that left my wonderful husband to care for me. He decided quickly (between sucking down Corona) that I needed the hotel doctor to come see me so I could get some medicine. Lovely husband went to Jersey Girls room to borrow the English to Spanish dictionary. While waiting for the doctor to arrive I laid in bed crying while my sweet husband looked up symptom words in the faithful dictionary so he could tell the doctor what was going on. After about 30 minutes there was a knock at our door. My soul mate goes to the door to let the doctor in. I hear the doctor ask what was wrong and all my husband can tell the doctor is "my wife's vagina is broken' Holy crap do you think that doctor wanted to turn tail and run? Was he thinking stupid Americana's and their promiscuous ways. I quickly righted myself in the bed and calle out that "no it hurts to go to the bathroom!". My dear husband leads the doctor in to me and no joke he is wearing a full face mask (no gloves just a face mask) and carrying a tackle box. WTF, did they call him straight in from the tuna boat? I have never been to the doctor in the states many times and never had some guy wander in with a golf club in hand. The doctor spoke fairly good English so I was able to tell him what was going on. At this point he opens his tackle box and low and behold it is his medical kit. He proceeded to bang on my kidneys and take my temp. He then tells me I should go to the hospital to get fluids. OH HELL NO. Two place I wont go, Mexican jail, Mexican hospital. So in the end the ungloved, masked wearing "doctor" gives my husband a list of drugs to pick up at the pharmacy and he takes his tackle boxes and leaves. Well that little visit cost us $120 cash on the spot and we learned later that you don't need a prescription for drugs in Mexico, I could have just walked in the pharmacy and bought what I needed. Live and learn.