This weekend I went to Santa Amalia for the second time. It’s a small, industrial town with not much to see except for Manuel’s mother. I wasn’t feeling well at the bus station before we left, but nothing horrible. I’d had a cough for a few days, so I figured this was just the cough going away. On the bus I had chills and a fever, so when we got to the bus station in Don Benito Manuel gave me an ibuprofen. His mother and step-father picked us up a few minutes later and instantly started worrying about me.
We got back to their house and ate lunch. Manuel’s mom took my temperature, which was 38C (about 100F) which, apparently, is an unacceptable temperature an hour after taking ibuprofen. Manuel, his mother, and I went down to the health center. We pulled up to the “Urgencias” door and walked right in. There was one woman behind a desk, reading a romance novel. Manuel’s mom started talking about the poor, sick American girl, far from her family, who needs instant medical care. The nurse seemed unimpressed. I signed my name in her little book and a doctor instantly appeared. For some reason, he looked remarkably like my uncle Chris. Manuel’s mom was answering all his unasked questions before we even made it to the exam room. When we got there, he asked me if I have a cough. I said no, but Manuel said yes, and I guess that trumped my answer. He listened to me breath, gave us a prescription, and that was it- probably five minutes total. We picked up the prescription (3 minutes total) and went back. I took the medicine, and then napped on the couch for a while. When I woke up and took my temperature, it was the same.
After dinner I started coughing, which scared Manuel’s mom so much that she took me right back to the emergency room. The same doctor was there. We didn’t even go in the exam room, she just told him the new symptom and he gave her a new prescription. That night passed uneventfully, unless you count constant chills, sweating, and vomiting as an event.
The next morning I had a temperature of 39C, so I was forced to stay in bed all morning. Manuel’s mom brought me a lot of warm milk with honey (which is actually quite good- I see why the Israelites were in such a hurry) and Manuel did Sudoku puzzles with me. After lunch (chicken soup!) I was permitted to walk around the town a little bit (not as exciting as it sounds, but fresh air was involved, so I was satisfied).
The next morning I woke up with a temperature over 40C (over 104F), so getting out of bed was out of the question. Again, Manuel and his mom took good care of me and kept me entertained, but I would have preferred mobility. A doctor came to the house and looked down my throat, but that didn’t make my temperature go down. I wanted to leave for Cáceres that night, but apparently people with temperatures are not allowed to travel.
Monday morning I decided to fake being well, so that I could go back, but Manuel’s mom took my temperature and ruined my charade. We went back to the health center so I could get a certificate of illness, to show my professors. We walked in and Manuel’s mom walked right into an exam room, demanded a certificate, and then we left. When she was cooking lunch I hid the thermometer, so she couldn’t take my temperature. I told her I was feeling very well, so she let us go. Just before leaving I put the thermometer back on the table. I’m so sneaky.
Despite the weekend being miserable, I was very well taken care of in Santa Amalia. Thank you very much to Manuel’s mom, for taking care of me as if I were her own daughter. Also, special thanks to Manuel for also taking good care of me, such as holding my sweaty, shaking body while I vomited all over the floor (and cleaning it up afterwards). I’m all better now. Manuel has started coughing…
