Monday, May 9, 2011

Cabo Three (Really)

Chapter Two is here in case you missed it.

Saturday (or day three as the title implies) started at about 6:30.  I had nightmares all night about running out of insulin.  It reminded me of when I was first diagnosed with diabetes 30+ years prior.  Except those nightmares usually involved accidentally eating an entire box of Sweet Tarts.

I woke up and the first thing I did was check to see if perhaps an overnight drying of my insulin pump may have corrected the dampened electronics.  It had not.  The thing was worse than the night before.  It wouldn't even come on.  It just made some strange squawking noises.

I checked my blood sugar.  It was 210 which was not bad for an entire night without insulin, but I don't want to get into the mathematics of that.  Although it was at the forefront of my thoughts.

I got dressed and headed to the lobby.  I talked to the receptionist and she called the doctor.  To make some sort of shiny silver lining on the whole ordeal, my partner in crime went to the reservation desk and made us dinner reservations at the steak restaurant (being that it was 7 AM and all).

I'm not sure about the Mexican phone systems.  The doctor seemed to speak pretty good English.  He asked me again what I needed and I told him a bottle of N insulin and about 10 syringes.  He said he had to call the pharmacy and I thought he was putting me on hold.  Next thing I know the phone is making some strange clicking and chirping noise and I'm suddenly on conference call with a Spanish speaking pharmacist and the doctor.

It started reminding me of one of those strange near-horror Twilight Zone episodes where a poor hapless soul runs out of life supporting medication and suddenly no one can understand him.

The doctor finally comes back to English and says, "They don't have any long lasting insulin".  "Hmmm," says I, "Do they have any Regular insulin?"  During the next Spanish session all I understood was the word Regular in a Spanish accent.

Finally the doc comes back and says, "Okay, someone will be there from the pharmacy in about 20 minutes with Regular insulin and 10 syringes.  It'll cost about $56 dollars."  N insulin is a one shot per day kind of insulin for me.  It lasts 24 hours.  Regular insulin lasts 6 hours.  It's slightly better than the stuff I have in my backpack because it only lasts 3 hours.

15 minutes later the front desk calls to let me know I have a delivery.  The guy can't speak any English, but he's excited to show me he has found a bottle of N Insulin!  I gave him $60 dollars and a kiss on the cheek.  Okay, not really.  I was very happy though.  As happy as I could get with the prospect of having to take a shot of insulin for the first time in 4 years.

I shopped for hard candy (a necessary evil to counteract low blood sugar when long lasting insulin is involved).  I went back to the room, gave myself a shot and went to a breakfast buffet.  The next few details are rather murky.

At some point I know we went back out to the pool to have drinks.  I had discovered that Gin & Tonics were wonderful for a restless stressed out belly.  They also lubricated the tense mind.  Before long I was back to my usual happy self when I heard a familiar twisted Irish accent coming from my right.  It was Kevin of Chuck and Larry fame.

He had somehow befriended all of these strapping young lads after we'd left him the night before.  They'd went into downtown to some "now famous" bar called Squid Roe.  Anyway, he had given them all nicknames and they were calling him Todd.  I don't know why.  He was quite proficient with the nicknames, one of them was called "Gummy Bear" or something of this nature.  There was another who was supposedly taking large doses of Viagra.  He had a nickname too, but I can't remember it or it has been erased like some kind of brain trauma.

Anyway, for some reason, they had a bottle of chilled Grey Goose Vodka in the pool that they were passing around.  Some of the things they were doing and saying would have likely got them arrested in the great "Jail Me" state I call home.  In Cabo it was just fun and funny.

I convinced Kevin/Chuck/Todd that we should go to Amnesia.  The appropriately named adult entertainment bar in San Lucas.  He agreed and we were to meet him at 9 PM to arrange for a ride.

To make a long story shorter, after our dinner at the steak restaurant at 6:30, the stress of the day kicked me in the ass and I went to bed.  I read a few chapters from my Benjamin Franklin autobiography and gracefully passed out.

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