The question i am asking myself this lovely Friday morning, is what good is an english teacher, who is being paid mainly because he is a native English speaker and thus has the accent desired, when the English teacher cannot talk?

I was feeling uber sick the other day and so I went to the doctor. Those who know me also know that I do not like going to doctors in general, and the docs down here, well, let me just say that they do not necessarily inspire total confidence. We wont even get in to the fact that it is quite possible I never had worms and that there is a strong likelihood I was misdiagnosed (I mean, the guy asked me questions for a few minutes and then suddenly realized I had worms. Who knows, maybe divination is one of the subjects they are teaching down here now.) Either way, it is now highly likely that I never had the evil parasites in my belly; however, I took the medicine which keeps them away for another 4 months, so that is something good.

Doctors. Don’t love them.

When I went to the pharmacy, where the doctor´s office is located in the back, there was the a man chatting up the clerk. Thus, when he came back to the office after me I was a little surprised that it was actually the doc who was hitting on the girl at the front. Anyhoo, I jump right in with my problems and he listens then takes my pulse and bp. Ok. Then he hands me a thermometer, the digi kind, but without the disposable little plastic cover that goes on the end. I was almost hoping he would tell me to put it in my mouth so I could laugh at him, but no, he told me to stick it (I know what you are thinking) under my arm. He proceeds to ask me bunches of questions about where I am from, why I am in mex, do I like it, how long will I stay, blah blah blah. Three minutes later, I just go ahead and take the stupid thing out from under my arm bc it is clear he has forgotten it was ever there. I inform him I just took some bc powder stuff for my fever and headache about an hour before (thank you again c-line, that stuff saved me).

He smiles knowingly and once again complements me on my Spanish. I am feeling pretty good at this point bc I have understood everything he has said. No small feat, but then again, not rocket science either. Either way I am pleased to know that when people do not use a bunch of slang and even slightly correct grammar, I can get about 90% of what they are saying. That rocks considering where I was three months ago.

So ya, then he pulls out two bottles and tells me he is going to give me an injection and prescribe me some meds. He says the injections will work faster and should make me feel better that day. The needle is big but I have no really issue with those things, the problem I immediately began contemplating was, oh god, where does that needle go.

To set the scene a little better. There is a store front (no doors down in many places here, when a shop is open, it is wide open) and a hallway about 20 ft long and then a door to an office with a big desk, bed-table-thing that you find you find in most examining rooms and a bookshelf.

As he motions for me to lie down on the table, butt up, I contemplate the open door. No one has made a move to close this door, and my white behind is about to grace the stage. No one cares.

So I got a shot in the butt and not a lollipop in sight. Stinks.

Anyway, I don’t feel good today. My voice is going in and out and the infection, which is what he called it after his thorough, uh, conversation, with me, is not getting any worse at least. Oh well. Life goes on, but I do not like being sick down here.

Back to the original q, if I cannot talk, what good am I as an instructor? I can play cd´s, that´s what I can do. We are listening to music today and all is right with the world.

Have a good weekend. I, on the other hand will be here tomorrow as we complete our 11 out of 12 days at work streak. I am ready for this 6 day week to end. The benefit is that we get the 2nd of January off. Vacation starts in less than 8 days. Woohoo!