Clinica Anglo Americana

Raise your hand if you've ever wanted to experience another country's health care system while travelling. Everyone got their hands by their sides? Yeah. Me too.

This is being written from hospital in San Isidro, the suburb next to Miraflores. They actually call it a clinic, but that must be a cultural thing, because this would be bigger than any clinic I've ever seen back home.

On the phone with my travel insurance provider prior to coming here, I was assured that they had worked out payment details with the clinic, and that I wouldn't have to pay anything. A relief.

Here, in the emergency room, I was informed that the deal they worked out with my insurance provider was only in respect to a hospital stay. To see a doctor, I'll have to pay now and then get my insurance provider to reimburse me. Less relieving.

For those wondering, this doesn't feel particularly urgent to me. It's just day six of diarrhea. Yes, I'm probably very dehydrated. Yes, I can hardly eat, so I'm likely short of all kinds of nutrients. But emergency?

It was my professor de español who convinced me. She is the one who pointed out all that is likely going wrong with my body. The fact that my lunch had just been evacuated lent strength to her words.

Now I'm here and they want a sample. They have given me a tiny tupperware that easily fits in the palm of my hand. Along with a proportionally tiny shovel. All of which makes me a little nervous. Am I supposed to hold the tupperware underneath me as I release? Because I'm not sure that shovel will be particularly effective at scooping up what is almost entirely liquid. But I'm equally uncertain that holding the tupperware underneath me will result in anything more than an intense need to wash my hand.

But, for now, I'm sitting here on the bowl. No decision to make, yet.

I'm just sitting.

And nothing.

For the first time in days.

Is happening.