I don't go to doctors unless I absolutely have to. That's one of the reasons health insurance in the US was such an insult: the Capt and I were shelling out $600 a month to Blue Shield for years, and never used it. (Well, ok, once or twice a year, maybe.)Two weeks after I jumped barefoot off the bow of the boat onto a concrete fuel dock, I still couldn't put weight on my right heel, and it was swollen and bruised. The Capt had suggested I might have a bone chip, and there was always a possibility of a hairline crack. So just on the off-chance that it was more than a sprain, I finally located a doctor in Guaymas a few days ago, with a little help from my friends.
My amiga Alma, a pediatrician, referred me to a foot specialist, Dr. Martinez in Guaymas, and I got a 5pm appointment. There was no parking available anywhere near his office, and I marveled at the irony that to see this foot doctor you'd have to walk at least a block and a half. His receptionist, who looked about 17 and obviously never heard of office dress codes, wore the usual micromini, tight low-necked top and bedroom hair. She spoke no English, yet she was engrossed in an English-language Nicholas Cage movie in the waiting room. She had the sound turned off, and read the subtitles.
Unsure whether I could explain the injury in Spanish, I asked my amiga Ale to talk to Dr. Martinez on the phone, sort of a telephone translation. He heard her out, smiled, hung up and addressed me in English! He examined the foot, then pulled down from a shelf a little model of a foot showing the bones, muscles and tendons, and showed me where he suspected I might have damaged it. Then he sent me off to the X-ray lab for confirmation.
I've been to the radiographica lab before, and there's a parking lot right next to it, minimizing limping time. I was ushered right in, and we got the shots done immediately; then I waited a bit, my nose buried in a book. I was handed the X-ray in a big white envelope, drove back to the doctor's office and had to park, this time, a block away and up a hill.
Dr. Martinez looked at the X-ray, brought out his little foot model again and showed me where the damage was done to my Achilles tendon. The good news was that the bone wasn't broken, chipped or cracked; the bad news was that I needed crutches for at least two weeks. He loaded me up with samples--two kinds of painkillers and a salve--and ordered me to soak in Epsom salts, and keep off the foot as much as possible. "You were very lucky," he told me. "You have good bones."
Two doors down from his office I rented a pair of crutches for less than $30 for two weeks. I have never used crutches before in my life, and it took a bit of practice before I was able to walk the block to my car. I noticed that people stared, and it occurred to me that it's unusual to see someone on crutches in the street in Guaymas.
Total cost, including the doctor, the X-ray and the crutches, was under $100. I went home, soaked the foot, applied the salve, propped the foot up on pillows, took a pain reliever and dozed off to my favorite music. Was it my imagination, or did it feel better the next day?