13 of March
Happy Thursday everyone! I hope your day was productive, adventurous, educating, or all three. I’d really like to present myself to you in the most appealing way possible and tell you that my day was “all three”- but let’s be real: I’m not a little ray of sunshine, and today definitely brought out the grinch in me. In a post a few months back, Jungle Diseases, I shared a slightly superfluous, indifferent account of a bacterial skin infection I was plagued with. Aside from being minutely annoyed at the coin-sized sores, I didn’t think much of them, nor did they worry me. Well, I’m less than enthusiastic to report that this little “jungle disease” still hasn’t cleared up after over four months of dealing with it unsuccessfully.
After forty minutes of brain-dead staring at repulsive music videos (I’m so disappointed, Franz Ferdinand), Mum and I were admitted into the doctor’s office at Hospiten, Playa Del Carmen’s chain hospital right outside of centro (the center of town). After initial greetings and explaining to the doctor about the three times my sores went into remission, their prolific and sweeping return, the unusually failed homeopathic remedies, and undetermined classification at a pediatrician’s, Dr. Carlos had me sit on a bed while he inspected my legs.
The doctor was, once again, flustered by my infection. He suggested three different medicines that I am now taking: a pill twice a day, a packet of dissolving powder to neutralize that side affects of the pill- quite contradictory if you ask me, and a cream that I have to rub on my sores. You know that my stance on modern medicine is extremely negative, but as the doctor was prescribing me, I commented that he should just give me the strongest medication he has, despite my scientifically backed-up revulsion to the stuff. Somehow Dr. Carlos found my input humorous, but I was dead serious; after FOUR MONTHS of this shit affecting me, I’m desperate enough to see an actual “doctor” and take antibiotics to relieve myself of it. I used to run five kilometers daily through the fine white sand as the sun melted liquid gold across the glassy, breaking dawn ocean, just two blocks from my house, but now it hurts to walk. I can’t play futbol at la escuela on Tuesdays and Thursdays, wear shorts, or even shave my legs for fear of disturbing the enflamed, scabby sores that spread like wildfire up and down my muscled limbs. They itch occasionally, leak thin, saline, yellowy fluid, and grow larger by the day, puffing up like warts on my skin until they burst. I’m sorry for the graphic description- I won’t go any further with it, since I know you’re reacting with nauseated facial expressions. Although Playa is fifty times cleaner than any other place I’ve been to in the world, I can’t forget that I’m a foreigner living in a dense jungle, and my immune system can’t fight all the bugs that flourish here.
This post has three motives: one, to inform you about an currently unclassified skin disease (three doctors, homeopathic and pediatric, have been unable to name it); an intention of reaching people who have experienced anything similar (while venting my anger towards the resistant bacteria); and to put out a calling card to all dermatologists not living in Playa Del Carmen area: you will literally live like a KING if you pack up and move your business here, because you will be the only dermatologist residing in this city- a city quite honestly racked with skin anomalies because of the dramatic weather and excessive amount of thriving bacteria. Think about it: as a skin specialist here, you are already bound to get a lot of customers, but to be the only one within a fifty mile radius? C’mon, this is a dermatologist jackpot waiting to happen. I am sitting on a skin doctor goldmine as I write this, people.
Lastly, to Segway into a question related to the appalling music video I saw while idling at Hospiten: what has happened to the classy, creative, and clever element of music videos? As a lover of an extremely diverse range of music, I’m disappointed in the so called “Top Hits” musical representation of my generation. What happened to real musicians producing music videos that actually relate to their songs? What happened to lyrics that actually mean something?
Here’s that music video I watched, or rather, tried not to watch despite a revolted fascination, during my wait at Hospiten: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIR5vBiC3ig
May I recommend… don’t watch it?