Like everyone else, we are here to see the ruins. Said to be one of the most impressive and important Mayan sights in Meso-America, Palenque is literally in the middle of the jungle. Steamy, hot, humid, misty, full of monkeys and huge insects and plants from the garden center at Home Depot. A real live Rainforest. Just like on the Discovery Channel.
But before we can even entertain a trip to the ruins, we have to deal with William's bizarre Mexican disease.
Heading down from the high altitude of San Cristobal turns out to be the right solution to the soroche problem. Well, for me anyways. I feel good. Headache gone. Aches disappeared. Yay Mexico! But William is running a fever again. He feels awful. We hop off the bus and check in to the first hotel we come to, across the street from the bus terminal. La Posada Los Angeles. It is basically the Ritz-Carlton. There's a ceiling fan and we have a private bathroom (or first ever!) with... wait for it... wait for it... HOT WATER?! Yes! I figure William will either make a full recovery in this luxurious suite, or he will die here. Either way... it's a pretty good deal.
But things aren't looking good for the full recovery option. William´s gums are now bleeding and he has an upsetting boil growing in his mouth. It's gross. And black-ish red. And leaking all kinds of fluids. I affectionately call it Susan Boil, but I guess we're not quite ready to laugh about it yet.
So, just to get everyone up to speed:
We are in a small Mexican town in the jungle of Chiapas, the biggest city is a world away, our collective grasp of the Spanish language is intermediate at best, and we have, perhaps, a few thousand pesos and an emergency stash of 300 U.S. Dollars in cash (all in ones). William's fever is off the charts, he is foaming at the mouth, and I'm making Susan Boyle jokes. Perfect.
We have two choices: sleep or panic. William chooses the former - or, well, okay... by "choose" I mean he more or less passes out. I opt for the latter. Full-on panic.
By morning, Susan Boil has fully moved in. William is in a good deal of pain and bloody hunks are coming out of his mouth. Last night, in an ill-advised act of self-remedy, William hacked at his gums with dental floss, hoping to dislodge whatever foreign object may have taken residence in his mouth. Surprisingly, this only seems to have angered Susan Boil. She's infected now and totally pissed off. At this point, I think we can officially qualify this as an emergencia.
Armed with my First Grade Spanish (and fifteen minutes of internet research: fever is el feibre, antibiotico, penicillo, and, just in case, Madre de Dios, El esta muriendo! (Mother of God, he is dying!), we find a farmacia and plead our case.
Now, a lot has been said about healthcare in recent years. And Mexican pharmacies have become the stuff of legend. We always hear that it is a drug free-for-all down here. Valium with no prescription? Yes, please. Senior Citizens stuffing their pockets with cheapo Viagra and enough Ambien to put down an elephant. Well, it's all true. The main drag of Palenque town has at least a dozen clean, sparkling white pharmacies, inviting you with huge garish signs ("Insulin 2x1!") like some macabre medical happy hour and blaring PA systems mixing happy dance music with periodic announcements like "Your blood pressure is low but our prices are lower!"
It's even free to see a doctor. OK, maybe he isn't a doctor. But he says he is. "Mi amigo esta enfermo," I say.
William, show him your mouth. William opens his mouth to reveal black and bloody Susan Boil and both the doctor and the lady behind the counter visibly gag. So much for bedside manner.
"And he has a fever. Un fiebre, " I say, and hold my hand to my forehead as if a dramatic pantomime will make my Spanish more understandable. The doctor looks at me and asks me how this happened. Well, I don't know, isn't that your job?! He asks me if William has been in a fight. "Did you punch him in the mouth?"
Oh. Jesus Christ.
No, no, no. He has had a fever for two days and this thing in his mouth is a ... um, um, una sopresa? A surprise. He is very sick, I add again. And then I toss out my new internet words - antibiotico? penicillo? Just give me the fucking drugs!!
The doctor goes behind the counter, picks out two packets of pills and hands them over. One is for fever and pain and the other is for the infection. I recognize this one. Cipro. Isn't that what you have to take if you work in the White House mail room?
I turn to William. This one´s good, I say, holding up the Cipro. This kills anthrax.
"Take these three times a day and he should be OK," the doctor says.
Grand total: 130 pesos. Less than $11.00.
And here's the best part. It works. Totally. 24 hours later, Susan Boil's brief career is over. She is gone and so is the pain and the fever.
Now, had we been back home, things would have been a bit different. First of all, even with our good healthcare plans in Massachusetts, we would have never been able to get a doctor's appointment right away. "Sure, we have an opening three weeks from next Thursday." If you are luck y enough to have a good doctor you might be able to get in on short notice, but more likely you will be forced to go to the Emergency Room. Which, with insurance, will run you at least $50 and untold hours of waiting. Plus the cost of the prescriptions. Without insurance? Start looking for a second job.
Or, you know, just book a flight to Mexico. It will probably be cheaper.
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