After shuffling my way awkwardly towards and now into the nearest pharmacy I stand at the counter wondering how the Hell I’m going to explain this in Spanish. “Em, es como uvas en mi culo. Ayudarmi”!
*Me telling them I have bum grapes because I don’t know how else to put it. Poor girl will never drink wine again!
Thankfully she passes me her phone and I write down the gist of it and she simply translates at the push of a button. What a round of charades missed there. She hands me a tube of cream and I shuffle away.
I’m up the whole night in fucking agony. What was that shit? Did I ask for the ‘I don’t want to live anymore’ cream or the slightly late abortion cream for the 30 years +. Next day I’m literally dragging my ass back and asking if she knows any doctors. Yes. Yes she does and gives me his business card. He knows my hostel and tells me he will be there in five minutes.
An hour later..
“WOW”! Not the reaction I’d hoped for when revealing my troubled ass. “I’ll write you a prescription to start using today, but if it hasn’t gone down any by tomorrow then we might need to operate.” Again with all the wrong words!
Over the next few days I start giving myself sponge baths with a small plastic bowl that came free with a packet of kid’s cereal and toilet paper due to lack of sponge in an effort to keep the affected (possibly infected) area as clean as possible with no idea as to whether it’s getting worse or not. I eventually find a plastic basin large enough to sit down in, but the owners seem very suspicious towards my constant limp back and forth to the communal bathroom with my kettle. Just be grateful I’m not in a shared dorm!
Eventually I give up and see a specialist. “WOW”! When I pull down my pants but then that’s what all the girls say! What I gotta love though is the fact that the street this proctologist (bum doctor) has his office located in is called Avenida Arce (pronounced arse-ay), basically Arse Avenue and that his name is one letter from being Dr. Colon Rectum (find me on Facebook and I’ll show you the scanned receipt if you don’t believe!)! What I don’t like are the size of his hands and fingers.
The cute girl assistant has such nice, nimble and delicate little fingers too, but no I’m getting my butt probed/destroyed by a man whose most distinctive quality even without knowing his occupation, are those shovel like hands and fingers as wide as a small dog. Relax he tells me.
After the excavation he wraps his fingers around part of the blood clot –as it transpired to be- and busts it in an attempt to release some of the pressure which I guess is a necessary yet excruciating few moments to endure. I’m asked if I want to leave it a week with my new medicine and see how it is or just have an operation tomorrow and have it removed. Fuck sitting on this thing for a week!
The surgery is successful and I’m still reeling from the effects of the sedation when I’m told I’m fit to go. In I float to a pharmacy a few streets up from the clinic with no idea what’s going on or how to use the meds I’ve been prescribed. Yes the doctor did tell me but I was wasted at the time. Everything seemed so cartoony while he explained all the important do’s and don’ts and through all his speech I didn’t even realize the op had even happened.
Tramadol, pretty potent and wonderful stuff and mixed with those little glass capsules I’ve been told ‘bite open and drink only in emergency’s’.. Have you seen Trainspotting? It’s no ‘perfect day’ but that sinking into the bed thing feels pretty sweet for the forty minutes that it lasts.
After sleeping a few hours back at the hostel I decide to clean myself up and take one of those pills that I’m unsure as to whether to take now at 6pm or take at 6am tomorrow morning. In the restaurant fifteen minutes later I treat myself to a nice glass of wine and then collapse in the bathroom.