Fever in Mexico

I have been trying to think hard what to write about Mexico. It has been said that to write well you have to write what you truly know. I could write more about drug wars and violence: I could write about corruption and political issues.

But I have not really experienced any of that since I’ve been here. I’m on the west coast, in a more touristic beach city with surfers and scuba divers: life is quite different here. Only thing I’ve noticed so far is the police, who carry automatic weapons you could never ever see regular officers carry in Europe.

But I don’t really want to write about the guns of the police.

I have a better topic in mind. And this is definitely about personal experience.

People who know me would say I’m very independent: I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been around, I’ve done this and that, whatever life throws at me, I’ll survive. Well Mexico taught me that sometimes you need someone, and it’s okay to need help. Because only when you are helpless and vulnerable you can truly receive – and understand - kindness from another person.

Yesterday morning I felt unbelievably bad, thinking first I’d had too much sun, deciding to stay in bed. Around afternoon I had high fever, unable to get out of bed at all, unable really to even sit. I felt seriously dehydrated as well, but couldn’t get up to drink.

I had no understanding of time. I felt like floating, maybe outside my body, being somewhere else. And it was right then, when a friend came to check up on me. I could not even raise my head to say hello: I had absolutely no strength left in me.

He got me Gatorade and some other Mexican stuff for dehydration, forced me to drink, and basically fed me little bit of food, although I was not able to eat more than three bites. Feeling how hot I was he insisted taking me to hospital, which I refused couple of times: it’s just a fever, I said.

Finally at midnight, being in severe pain, my condition was bad enough for me to admit I needed to see a doctor. My friend drove me to emergency care in the middle of the night. He made sure I got the best treatment, helped me fill out the papers and talked to the doctor.

It was nothing deadly: an infection that only required antibiotics. But without my friend I would probably still be in my bed, unable to get up, unable to drink, hallucinating in high fever.

I know what you are thinking: that’s very sweet, but not really anything special. Quite frankly, any friend would do the same. True. I’m not so much touched by what he did; I’m touched by the devotion and sincerity he did it with. I have never received such innocent and sincere kindness and caring from anyone (except my parents). It truly touched my heart. 

Nobody likes to be helpless. Nobody likes to be unable to take care of themselves. But maybe sometimes we need to be helpless in order to learn something: about life, about fellow humans… about love.

"Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see."

-Mark Twain