Remember back in May when something stung me? Whatever it was stung me again yesterday. Now I have a cartoon hand and am in Buenos Aires, where I have received medical attention.
It went like this: I walked into the pharmacy, placed both hands on the glass counter and said, in Spanish, "Do you have something for my hand?"
Then the doctor (they have doctors at the pharmacies here) asked what happened and started mashing around on my fat little hand.
"Ouch! I don't know what happened by I think something stung me."
"Where's the bite?"
"I don't know. There's not one. It was there yesterday, but it's gone today."
"Ah, yesterday. Do you want pills or an injection?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Okay, that'll be (the equivilent of eight dollars). Come around to the side door."
So I enter the side door, sprawled out on a little examining table behind a curtain and let her inject me with a vial of some unknown medicine. Then I hopped down and went on my way.
"Gracias."
"Con gusto."
No more than four minutes passed from the time I walked through the front door of the pharmacy to the time I walked out the side door.
I love this place.
1 comment:
Something about this country makes you need a doctor more often than usual, right?
Probably all those crazy animals.
Miss you so much!
L.
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