Behind the hospital curtains

I watch a nurse whose name I don’t know to put an IV in my vain. I answer a bunch of questions about my age, religion, place of birth and known diseases (none). I’ve never spend a night in a hospital before, and never would I ever have guessed my first one would be in Mexico.

That was 34 hours ago. I’m sitting in my room, in San Javier Marina Hospital, Puerto Vallarta, typing. Yes, I have my own room; I also have bathroom with shower and TV (the TV is not in the bathroom). I order my breakfasts, lunches and dinners from a menu. I’ve talked to a nutritionist who works here, I’ve talked customer representative who wanted to know if I have any complaints. Only one: the fact that I’m still sick.

It’s almost like staying in a hotel, except that I’m attached to a rack of tubes, bags of drugs and a monitor; and instead of spa treatment and massages I have to pee in a cup and I wear a gown. I start to think that I’m in one of the episodes of House. At this point I wouldn’t mind a self-centered, strongly sarcastic and ego-centric doctor, if he would just know how to actually make me better.

Right about now I’m also very happy about my insurance, which covers the costs of this private hospital. Otherwise I would have had to go to a public one, where I would be queuing with hundred and something other patients, sharing a room (or the hallway) with bunch of others. Although my nurse Alex, who also works at the public hospital, told me that people there are very humble and it’s rewarding to work there. I’m sure I would hear many touching life stories there. Here I mainly talk to myself.

I’m forced to sharpen my crappy Spanish, though. Some of the staff don't speak English. Si, yo tengo mucho dolor. No, no necesito pipi ahora. Me gusta comer pescado. Si, yo se que me parezco a la mierda.

But in the end there is only one thing that has really kept me sane during these long, long days of sickness. And that is the man, who faithfully has been helping me with every single small thing, checking my temperature, feeding me when I’m too tired to eat, forcing me to drink when he knows I’m dehydrating, and brushing my teeth when I have difficulties using my right hand because of the IV.

He skipped work to stay with me yesterday, smuggled me dinner when I missed mine here and slept the night on a couch (and not a comfortable one) next to my bed. It is only his jokes, which make me laugh even if in pain, and sincere caring that has made me feel really happy to be here, no matter the circumstances.

Therefore, dear friends and readers, do not worry for me. For I have all the attention and care I need to get well.


"Patients sometimes get better. You have no idea why, but unless you give a reason, they won't pay you."
-Dr. Gregory House