As I sit in this grungy, smallish clinic, my fears are confirmed. I have a temperature and a nasty case of strep throat. Fortunately, Chris spent the early morning hours-before I even awoke-running around town, trying to figure out how to get me to a doctor. I knew as early as yesterday morning what I had, but was hoping I could muscle through it, afraid our travel insurance would prove to create a terrible nuisance.
But this doctor is very comforting. My case is so bad it marks the second time in my life I´ve been diagnosed with strep sans throat culture and the fourth I´ve been able to successfully self-diagnose (by the way, just a note from experience: American doctors don´t care for patients who have the ability to self-diagnose, even if they´ve suffered the same ailment so many times they know exactly what they have).
My Nicaraguan doctor is patient with us as we translate through our guide from yesterday, Gus. I´m grateful for Chris´ early morning research and Gus´ willingness to accompany us to what he claims is the cheapest clinic in town.
Here, we purchase three doses of penicillin and three clean, new needles for about $2.50 apiece. And the administering doctor is free. Amazing, no? And yet, in 2003, I suffered a severe case of strep throat for nearly two weeks in the United States before I was slighted by and finally helped at a women´s clinic because our nation finds it far too expensive to see that citizens are provided life-saving health care. Baffling.
So now, on day two of my three-day penicillin fix, my bum is pretty sore, but Grenada is pretty great. Even better now that my sweet, dear hubby has insisted we indulge and move to a luxury hotel nearly four and a half times more expensive than our dirty, sweaty hostel.
Right now, a little luxury, complete with the creature comforts (i.e. American television with election coverage!), is super nice. And with a sigh of relief from Chris, I am recovering nicely.