But the bigger story was the stellar medical care I received

This story is mostly about them. They work here, at Hospitales MAC in the hills of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, where Rebecca and I spend January. I’ll start at the beginning, with my head lying bleeding on the bathroom floor — beautifully glazed bricks, but hard, very hard. My part will be brief. I’m the object and not the subject of this story.

Tuesday, AM

It’s 2 am last Tuesday, and I’ve collapsed. I remember being dizzy, disoriented, and nauseous as I walked through the bathroom door. And I have an image and sensation of my face on this floor. That’s it until Rebecca found me sitting on our bed with my head bleeding. She cleaned the wound and me and then determined I was out of immediate danger as I began to answer her questions, for example, “What year is it?” correctly.

Rebecca managed a doctor’s clinic for decades. As she monitored me, she was in texting contact with a physician friend. She was my angel of mercy who knows and knows people who know.

Eight years ago, I experienced a similar episode but without a fall. Again, early in the morning, I was wobbly on the way to the bathroom and sick to my stomach. There’s a fancy name for this condition: Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo. The physical therapy treatment can be straightforward and includes head positioning to reorient chrystals in the inner ear. (source)

Who woulda thunk? Chrystals in the ear, and Bam!

Tuesday, PM

At breakfast, after looking at my head wound about two inches northwest of my right ear, Rebecca said it would be best to see a doctor. Fortunately, Theresa, our landlord, listed vital contact names and phone numbers on the refrigerator, including Dr. Leslie Maria Flores.

Rebecca made the call as she has improved her Spanish proficiency using Duolingo for two years. I’m stuck at Hola. Victor answered and set a same-day appointment time for noon. Other than a headache, I’m of sound 75-year-old mind and body. Because Victor spoke English, we decided I could embark on this adventure alone as Rebecca went to a Lifelong Learning class we had been looking forward to.

Taxi driver Carlos dropped me off at the entrance you see in the first photo. The lobby was small and spotless.

After sitting outside Room 211 for a few minutes, Victor came out the door with the Christmas wreath and asked if I was Paul.

He took my vitals inside an ante-room. “Your blood pressure is high,” he said. It was 160 over something. “That’s a lot higher than usual,” I replied, “I guess I’m nervous.”

Dr. Leslie Marie Flores, MD, poked her head out of a back room and said to come in. Two comfortable chairs sat in front of her desk. Through a door to a third room, I saw an examination area with windows looking out at the Bajio Mountains surrounding San Miguel.

Her consultation lasted about forty minutes. During it, she asked specific questions about what had happened to me the previous night. She honed in on a faint red spot over my left eyebrow: “I don’t think you raised your hands to block your fall. I think you blacked out. That worries me. We should do an EKG.”

After she cleaned my head wound, an emergency room physician who happened to be available arrived to suture the two-inch gash. He was about sixty and Flores forty or so. In Spanish, she summarized the details of my incident, including her recommendation for an EKG, with him nodding and gesturing approval. He then closed the cut with three medium-sized stitches.

Wednesday, AM

The taxi driver, Carlos, dropped me off the following day for two more appointments: the EKG and an ear cleaning for the pesky inner ears.

After the EKG, the technicians motioned me into the office of Dr. M. Karina Cruz Madrigal, cardiologist. One comfortable chair facing middle-aged Dr. Madrigal behind her desk. Her English was better than mine. “Your EKG is normal, but tell me the fall details.” I did.

“I’m worried you didn’t put your hands up to protect your face.” She put a heart model before me and said, “The heart is like a light bulb. As it ages, sending an electrical current from here to there takes longer. Your light bulb is 75 years old. Why did you black out?”

She recommended a three-day heart monitor because “the EKG only tests the heart for 20 seconds.” I said I would make an appointment with my Decorah physician when we returned to the USA in early February. And then I remembered my father got a pacemaker when he was 65. Yesterday, I made that appointment.

I’ve had my ears cleaned out so many times I even wrote a story about it.

My 65-year Love Affair With Nurses

Don’t you love to watch professionals at work

medium.com

Dr. Karla Lidia Chávez Vaca ushered me from my chair in the hallway into her office. By now, I was used to explaining why I was hanging around MAC. She listened attentively, asked very specific questions, and said, “let’s take a look inside your ears.”

“Yes, there’s plenty of wax in each.”

What followed was the most gentle, thorough removal of the cerumem build-up in memory. She then printed off eye exercises for vertigo she wanted me to do for a month followed by her What’s App number to conact her with any questions.

Friday, AM

I’ll bet you are interested in how much this care cost. First, I paid a fee at each office. Second, the total was $331, including three prescriptions.

As I write this story four days after falling, I feel immense gratitude toward my loving partner Rebecca and her physican friend Bill.

And to the four professionals at MAC Hospital in San Miguel.

Thank You.