There is a myth circulating the United States that anyone entering Mexico can obtain prescription drugs at the corner store. Perhaps this was true some years ago but no longer. I know this from experience. To my friends in the United States, I tell you the party is over so be prepared to pay dearly for want you desire.
I arrived in San Miguel with a little congestion. With warm days, cool nights and the inability to heat your cement home the weather can make you a bit crazy and a little sick. Within days of arriving in San Miguel I had either walking pneumonia, bronchitis or both. I couldn’t breathe well and this greatly reduced my enjoyment of wine. Something had to be done.
For three days I tried cough medicine with fancy ingredients like guaifenesina and dextrometorfano prominently on the front label. I kid you not. With tongue twister ingredients like these surely they are not available in the United States without a prescription. I also tried ambroxol with “…y vaso dosificador” and it claimed to help “… expulsion de las flemas”. Being familiar with expulsion during my high school days, I knew this must be tough medicine. Only later did I realize that these medicines are made by, and distributed by, Vick and generally go by the name of “Vicks cough syrup”. Worse yet, that most sought after “dosificador”, is simply that little plastic cup that sits on top of the bottle. Yep, it’s that little plastic cup your wife uses to be sure she only takes the exact amount of cough syrup and the one you put to the side as you take a long pull on the bottle.
Desperation set in as I was still unable to breathe or enjoy a nice glass of wine. Lying in bed and drinking tea was not an option so I emailed my pharmacist back in Michigan. I only have a pharmacist because he is my neighbor. He suggested that I try amoxicillin. He assured me that in Mexico that I could buy it in the fruit and vegetable section of any store. Sounded easy, so I headed out to score amoxicillin.
Having no desire to prolong my agony, I went straight to the corner vegetable store as prescribed by my pharmacist. After what became a heated debate over the qualities of a “dosificador” I was asked to leave the store before I contaminated the produce. My next stop was the local pharmacy. The friendly pharmacist took pity on me but insisted that I needed a “receta”. Being well versed in Spanish I knew this word meant “recipe”. I told him I didn’t have one in mind but perhaps we could work out the ingredients together. I even suggested that we email my pharmacist for the ingredients. As the line behind me grew ever longer the pharmacist’s patience grew ever shorter. Finally, an equally sick Mexican man yelled out that a “receta” also means “prescription” in Spanish. He insisted I needed a doctor’s prescription. Obviously this man’s illness had driven him close to insanity as everyone knows you don’t need a prescription in Mexico. While I wanted to debate with him the unique attributes of a “dosificador”, I thought the better of it and headed out the door in search of a real Mexican pharmacy.
Within minutes I had arrived at Cielo’s pharmacy. Must be the right place because “Cielo” means, “heaven” in Spanish. I entered and asked to speak with Cielo. Moments later a woman in her early eighties and wearing big glasses and a dull colored skirt approached me and introduced herself as Cielo. She seemed friendly enough and was clearly of the “old school” of pharmacy. This must be the right spot. As cheerfully as I could, I asked for a box of amoxicillin. “I am sorry”, she said, “You must have a prescription”. Undeterred, I went on to explain that my pharmacist in Michigan had prescribed the drug so there was no problem. Equally undeterred she went on to explain the location of the nearest doctor, presumably her brother.
Cielo’s pharmacy is very busy. You only have Cielo’s attention for maybe one minute before she is off to help the next customer. Most receive their drugs quickly from a small storage area behind the counter. Other customers are asked to follow Cielo behind the counter and then behind a green curtain. Patients of all shapes and sizes move in and out from behind that curtain. “Okay”, I thought, “maybe I need to offer a little something extra to get behind that green curtain”.
Quietly and with a smile I said, “Cielo, is there anything I might do to secure the amoxicillin”? “Of course”, she said with a wink, “I am in need and you are in need”. Perhaps we can satisfy each other”.
Being desperate, and thankful that my wife was not with me, I took the bait. Smiling again, I said, “How can I be of help”. She motioned me behind the counter and behind the green curtain. At last I was about to score but what would I tell my wife?
She suggested that I make myself comfortable and have a seat in one of the small rooms behind the green curtain. She, on the other hand, was going to “change into something more appropriate”. A short time later she returned in a white gown. She seemed excited. I was nervous. Could I satisfy her and get my amoxicillin under this pressure? Should I perform first or make her perform first? What if she was just teasing about the amoxicillin?
She said, “I am ready and I have what you need”. With a wink she went on, “I will be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you”.
Gulp. “I don’t want anybody to get hurt I just want amoxicillin”.
“Yes, I understand. Now turn away from me and pull down your pants”.
Slowly, I did as instructed. She touched me gently with a small cold wrinkled hand. Then slapped my buttocks with unimaginable strength for an old woman. Antibiotic foreplay I thought as I bit my finger trying not to scream too loud.
A moment later the amoxicillin is coursing through my body. The spent needle now lying neatly on the side table.
With a smile she says, “Now you must perform. That will be the agreed upon 172 pesos. Also, please pull up your pants and please don’t say anything to my brother the doctor”.
In the afterglow of victory I returned to the Jardin to spend time with my wife secure in the knowledge that I will surely feel better tomorrow and will enjoy a glass of wine.