So, I was pathetic enough yesterday that my dad threw me in the dinghy to pay a visit to the doctor. We asked around only to discover that there is no English-speaking doctor in Bahia and it was Saturday so we walked out of the marina hoping for the best.

We found a woman sleeping/sitting on a bench next to the barred doors of a doctor's office who informed us that they were indeed open. After yelling "HOLA?" for a few minutes, a nurse who might have been 5'1" in her white hospital shoes, and was pushing 80 years opened the gate for us. She asked if I was sick and upon confirmation attempted to contact the doctor. After the 15th call and no answer, she sent a boy on a bike to the doctor's home. I was impressed with the effort, but felt a little guilty about them going to so much trouble.

Enter the doctor. He has to be 6'6" 250lbs. He was huge. And commanding. I tried to explain that I spoke a little Spanish only, which made him speak louder and repeat every statement or question at least three times. (Note to self: when some one says they speak a little English, do not yell at them.)

I managed through advanced spanglish combined with charade modifiers to describe my symptoms. He checked me out and said that I had some bronchial issues. He sent his nurse to prepare a couple of shots. He said that I should HIDRATE as much as I could over the next two days and come see him on Monday. If I'm no better, we'll move on to antibiotics. "Yes sir!"

I've had my fair share of shots. So, being a good patient, I pull my pants down to reveal the appropriate amount of cheek, and laid down face first on the 1950's hospital bed. Nurse Rached gave me the first shot which induced a tushie muscle spasm. I expressed my pain by tearing up and squirming away. She was all but laughing out loud while I continuously exclaimed , "NO MAS!" then pinned me to the table, and ~sting!~ shot my other cheek. She was ruthless.

Needless to say, whatever pep I had left in my step was obliterated. I walked around town like a dog with her tail between her legs. Dad hopped on the bus and I went back to Sora. I had my "sick girl" meal of tomato soup, grilled cheese, and a pickle and watched four episodes of West Wing. I plan to do the same today.
Come on get well! No more shots for me!

Cheers to big doctors and their little nurses,
Cass