This morning is lazy. Mike is hungover and I'm a bit sleepy. We decide we're cooking dinner ourselves tonight, so Mike grabs a few last minute items and gets a marinade going. We decide to walk around Zocalo for Day of the Dead.
I buy a dope Day of the Dead shirt and then we walk around some street with cobblestones and no cars and so many Day of the Dead altars!!!! They are amazing. Pics are below. I took the first one and Mike took the rest.
Mike and I haven't eaten yet, so we decide our first order of business (after wandering around the altars) is to grab something from a taqueria. We find a place that looks good and order tacos with mole. Do you know where this is going? I should have.
Jingle All The Way plays on a TV in the back of this taqueria. I have to order an americano four times before it seems like the waiter understands. We're halfway through the meal before we get our coffee.
The tacos with mole look amazing. I take one bite and immediately can tell something is wrong. I don't taste anything at all. I taste warning sign.
"I think there's nuts in this," I tell Mike. Later, research would let us know mole often has nuts. I don't know why I didn't know this, but I do know why I didn't ask. Mike and I have asked various versions of "nueces, alergia, cacahuatas, tienes" and the waiter so rarely understands the question that I've gotten frustrated. I know you know what I'm saying when I say cacahuatas! My accent cannot be that bad!
We ask a nearby waiter if there are cacahuatas and he doesn't comprehend. We ask another man who seems to know some English, and at first he is confused, and he asks a cook, and they say no and it's safe to eat. But it's not appetizing to me anymore. Mike finishes his food. I don't want anything else.
Then the same man, who assured us the food was safe, comes back over and tells us that there are, in fact, peanuts in the sauce. I give the plate back and don't order anything else. They bring out flan because they feel bad, and I have one bite, but I'm not feeling it.
Jingle All The Way is a terrible movie. I had forgotten about Sinbad. Mike says last he heard, Sinbad was working on a cruise ship. That was 10 years ago.
They play a movie called Boys and Girls next where Freddie Prinze Jr. plays a NERD and that woman from Meet Joe Back - Claire Forlani? - is nice to him even though he is not nice to her. Jason Biggs is in it and he is young. I think his face has gotten more punchable as he has gotten older.
We keep walking for a bit and Mike is very concerned about my nut reaction. He thinks it is a big deal that I accidentally ate nuts. I think nut allergies are the dumbest thing and I'd rather just not deal, so I play it cool. I tell him very calmly that I have to find a private alleyway so I can vomit. If I am relaxed, Mike is relaxed.
Mike wants to go back to the room. We had such a late start today that I have no interest in doing that. We are enjoying Mexico City, goddamn it.
We pass a street called Simon Bolivar and I tell Mike it's a missed opportunity to call it Simon Boulevard. He agrees.
We find a dark parking garage with no security just in time - I was about to throw up in the middle of the street and that would have been a whole thing. Mike gives me a modicum of privacy. He is intrigued by a Lady of Guadeloupe altar in the middle of this dark and seedy garage. I feel somewhat better after throwing up.
"Bitch I'm back," I tell him, appropriating Beyonce's "Formation" because I feel like a rockstar after getting it mostly out of my system. Mike is relieved.
We grab water at a convenience store. Mike wants to look at a church and I don't want to. Am I in a hurry to get somewhere? I realize I am still irritable despite trying to play it cool. I try harder to be cool.
We keep walking and the streets get more and more crowded. I see a farmacia and tell Mike I'd like to get some benedryl. We stop. The lady doesn't know what benedryl is. I take out my phone and type it on my notes app. Still nothing. I type "alergia" and she gets it and finds some medicine. I remember I have a benedryl pill in my purse and take it, but I also buy the extra allergy medicine.
We decide to walk to Templo Mayor but I am not getting better. I cough, but I remind myself I'm still recovering from a cold. I'm getting an itch here and there, but it's not hives, obviously - I only break out in hives when my reaction is serious, and this reaction isn't serious, so it's obviously not hives - so I do my best to ignore the itching. The stomach pain doesn't go away.
It's so crowded. It's so crowded. I want to sit down. People are yelling at me to buy things in Spanish and I don't want to deal with it. Where are the trash cans? I have two empty water bottles and I'm so annoyed I'm still carrying them. Why isn't my stomach feeling better? It's not a serious reaction, that itch isn't getting worse, it's not spreading, I don't need to scratch my scalp-
My face puffs up and I can physically feel it. Well, I've gotten puffy face without a serious reaction. But it wasn't paired with a stomach pain that won't stop. I didn't feel this weak. The itching is starting to become something I can't ignore. My breathing is labored in a way that has nothing to do with the cold I'm essentially over.
"I would like to go to the hospital," I tell Mike calmly. I almost add the word "please." He agrees. I walk quickly - the hospital isn't a terribly far walk but I don't want to waste too much time. Mike keeps pace with me. I'm feeling weaker, and every time I check my maps app, it feels like the hospital we're going to gets farther and farther away. Finally my maps app goes blank. Mike's phone is dead. I don't know how to get to the hospital anymore, and it's probably another 20 minutes of walking at least.
If I'm being honest with myself, I don't think twenty minutes of fast-paced walking is a good idea at this point.
Mike sees a restaurant and says we should beg them to let us use their WiFi to call an uber. I agree. I usually would do the talking but good god I need something to lean on at this point because standing up is just so tiring. I remain calm, or try to, but everyone else is moving so slowly and I would like to get to the hospital now, thank you.
"Don't panic," Mike says, and I am annoyed because I am not panicking, thankyouverymuch, and it takes me a minute to realize that he is repeating that phrase for himself just as much as he is for me and my grouchy attitude.
They let us use the WiFi - a true testament to how awful a puffy, red face and a body grabbing onto a chair for dear life can look. The uber driver comes. I feel much better. We will be at the hospital soon. Once there, I will be fine.
I remember my first allergic reaction out of the country. I was 20, and in Budapest, and had eaten a candy bar with roasted peanut flour. The hospital didn't know what an allergic reaction was, and I got lucky and the reaction wasn't bad. I didn't need medical attention after all. I worry the hospital here will not know how to treat an allergic reaction. I try to push the thought out of my mind. There isn't anything I can do if they don't know how.
I remember my second time I had an allergic reaction abroad, in January 2014. My friend Pip and I were on Atiu, an island in the Cook Islands with about 100 people living there. I told her it was mild and would pass, and she very calmly said "okay, I trust you, but what if - and hear me out - today we went to the hospital?" It was a smooth trick, so I agreed to it. When we got there, I pointed to the expensive pricing at the hospital just for being seen by a doctor and told her it would be a waste of money because there was no way in hell they had anything that could help me, all the way out here in the middle of the South Pacific. And again, it was mild. And again, I am lucky to travel with people who are more concerned about my anaphylaxis than I am.
I don't always pay attention to little details like "what exactly are the ingredients in this thing I'm about to put inside my body?"
I don't count the almost-hospital visit in Atiu as my second visit. I count the visit in Rarotonga, the main island in the Cook Islands, when I finally caved and decided to treat my leg for the second-degree burn I sustained four days earlier when my calf hit an exposed muffler on a motor bike. They gave me a shot of penicillin in my butt. I'd never had a shot in my butt before my trip to the Cook Islands. I guess I can say I have now.
While in the uber, I remember being stranded in Belize when my car broke down. I remember my various hospital visits. I remember my flight from Berlin to Geneva being grounded because of a volcano erupting in Iceland. I remember my one-person car accident driving in the snow from Boston up to Montreal. I remember I have travel days like Sunday, where Mike and I spend a beautiful day in Xochimilco, like normal tourists, and days like Monday, where Mike and I wander around Polanco like typical visiting Americans, and then I remember I have days like today, where my belief in my own invincibility leads me to yet another hospital in a foreign country.
This uber driver is literally the slowest driver I've ever had in any city I've ever been. He knows we're going to the hospital, and he picks the lanes with all the cars in it even when there's a lane with no cars right next to it. He drives the speed limit, if that. I swear to God he's playing elevator music. I moan in the backseat.
"This ride is a joke," I mutter weakly.
"What?" Mike asks.
"Nothing," I mumble.
I think about saying "um, emergencia, alergia, hospital" to the driver. I imagine him responding "hey, rules are rules" in Spanish, because this dude seems like a total Pollyanna. I decide to groan a little bit more loudly to see if that affects his driving. It does not. It does succeed in worrying Mike even further. I feel like a dick but I am not feeling well enough to correct Mike. I figure he'll see I'll be fine once we get to the hospital.
"Hotel California" by The Eagles starts playing, and I think to myself I hate the fucking Eagles, man. I laugh in my head. I lean against the car window. When the driver's map app shows we're only 4 minutes away, I do math to keep my brain occupied. 240 seconds, I tell myself. Too long to hold your breath underwater, I remind myself. Stop being an idiot, we're almost there, I tell my morbid thoughts.
We get to the hospital and find the waiting room, but hospitals in Mexico are set up differently than they are in the States, and we don't know where to check in. We find a nice lady doctor wearing jeans and nice boots and Day of the Dead nail polish and I say "alergia - cacahuatas" and she sees immediately what's happening and sits me down while sending Mike to go figure out paperwork.
She takes my blood pressure and it's low. It's very low. She makes some sort of decision and tells me to bring my stuff with me and takes me to a room.
I'm moved to a room that seems to be a nurse's station of sorts. No bed. The doctors come back to relax. People come in to discuss prescriptions. They know I'm American, so I assume they're doing this because I can't afford a different room. I'm not sure. I'm happy to be treated, and honestly, the less pomp about it the better. They give me an oxygen mask. I feel much improved.
A nurse grabs a plastic glove and wraps it around my forearm, right under the elbow. I know she's about to give me a shot. I look away. She gives it to me right in the back of the forearm, under the wrist. I have never had a shot here before. I hate it. I can feel the needle inside me the whole time. It's painful, stretching the skin. She draws blood. It feels like it's in there for an hour when I'm sure it was only 60 or so seconds. Now I know why I've never gotten a shot in my forearm before. I'll take the finger prick any day.
Mike sits down in the room with me. His eyes are teary. I try to tell him everything is going to be fine now that I'm being treated, but too many people are fussing over me and I can't find the words. I feel like an asshole, looking at Mike, and I wish I hadn't groaned so loudly in the uber. A nurse tells him the room is too busy and he has to leave.
The same nurse, Forearm Shot Nurse, goes to give me another show in the crease of the elbow. This time I allow myself a vocal response, a short gasp of pain, at insert instead of just gritting my teeth. Who the fuck am I being stoic for anyway?
Hooked up to fluids and wearing an oxygen mask, I still feel weak but I feel better. Relieved. Everything is going to be fine. I wonder how expensive the bill is. I wonder if I'm going to need to move money around to pay for it. I think about the fact that I'm in a hospital in Mexico City and I wonder why I travel when this sort of shit happens every time I go abroad.
I thought about why and I wish I had some profound response. No, really, I do. I got really flowery with the language in my head, staring out the window of the hospital with the oxygen mask over my face, as I pondered my desire to travel as often as I do. The words felt fake. Honestly, I travel because I like it. Even with the dumb situations I find myself in (whether or not they are my own doing), I still get to experience days like Xochimilco. Dinners like BIKO. In bad situations I learn what I'm capable of. In good situations I get to embrace a new experience. I don't travel because it's good for the soul, I travel because it's fun and I like who I am when I'm somewhere new. I travel for silly, superficial reasons. I like being able to ignore work emails. I like hitting a corner of the Earth I've never been to before. I like learning people are mostly the same. I like finding the details that are different in manners and customs from one place to the next - the silly little things that may be rude in one place but perfectly normal in the next.
I am a disaster in my everyday life at home. I spill food on myself multiple times a day. I am surprised when I'm carrying ten things in my arm and one of them falls to the floor. I don't get why gravity has to be so constant sometimes. Why would I suddenly be less of a Calamity Jane just because I'm in another country? I'm still just as careless, just as blasé in the face of indisputable scientific fact when it doesn't suit my purposes.
Mike comes back again now that the nurses are gone.
"Everything is fine," I tell him. He is clear-eyed now.
"I know. I'll be more careful about asking about nuts at restaurants."
"Mike, it's my responsibility to ask about nuts. I'm an adult."
"Still."
It's sweet. I don't want to argue about it.
"That uber was slow, huh?" I ask.
"Yes! I should have said something."
"I don't think it would have made a difference." I share my observations about the Pollyanna-ness of thr driver and his elevator music.
"It was like Girl From Ipanema up in there," I say.
Mike laughs. I start humming the tune to that song. I even shimmy a bit. I wonder if the nurses liked me better when I was too exhausted to talk.
"I'm gonna hate that song now," he says.
We're quiet for a bit. I lean against the wall, still tired.
"I'm gonna be fine, Mike."
"I know."
"I'll probably have to wear this oxygen mask the rest of the trip."
Mike looks concerned. His eyes go wide.
"Are you -"
"No. I'm joking."
Mike guffaws and leans down, head in hands.
"I'm mad at you," he says.
"Are we in a fight?" I ask.
"Yes."
Mmm. I sing the melody from Girl from Ipanema again.
We find the pharmacy and the only amount of money I'm asked to pay is 48 pesos for the prescription. That's it. That's my entire bill. That is less than $3 US. Is there something I was supposed to pay and didn't? I saw something previously for 1720 pesos, which is still less than $100 US - not bad, considering. But I don't see that particular bill again. Just the one for 48 pesos. Huh.
Mike and I call an uber back and eat dinner in the room. I want to go out but I'm fading. Mike is unconcerned with going out. He cooks a chicken dinner and it's delicious. I decide I would like to walk somewhere for dessert. He agrees. We get some pretty dope flan.
It's late again. Tomorrow we are painting our faces. I had wanted to do that earlier today, before eating. I wonder what that would have looked like - holed up in the hospital, fighting an allergic reaction, white and black face paint smeared from when I rubbed the puffiness in my eyes. I coulda been so cute.
"I'm sorry I ruined today," I tell Mike. "Thank you for taking care of me."
"I didn't do anything," he protests.
"There is no way I would have made it without you," I tell him honestly.
Tomorrow is also Day of the Dead. Everything is great. We have a great trip ahead of us. What's a few hours in the hospital, really?
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