El Doctor Del Arroyo

As promised, I am adding some stories about our time in Mexico.  This first one is one I wrote just as it happened and stored away for the future.  Other than a few close friends, you will be the first to have read it.  Although this is a public journal, I ask that you please not copy or use it without my permission.  I hope the story blesses you as it did me.

                    THE DOCTOR OF THE ARROYO

I was working at the clinic on a Wednesday in August, 1996. A mom named Rosario came in with her little baby, Esmeralda.  She was a bit fussy and Rosario said that Esmeralda had a "grano" under her arm.  The doctor and I examined the growth, which was the size of a ping-pong ball and gave instructions to Rosario for the baby's care.  Hot compresses were the biggest part of the treatment, along with pain reliever and antibiotics should the first two treatments not work.  Rosario couldn't read, but we gave her hand drawn instructions so she could understand when to give the medicine, etc.

"I can't," she said, "I can't do this. I can't get the medicine and the hot packs right."  Her eyes pleaded with me.  "Please take her home with you."  I tried to encourage her to take care of her baby, that she was certainly capable of doing so.  She shook her head.  She was adamant that I care for the baby "just until the grano goes down."  Finally, I relented, but showed her again anyway the proper way to do the treatments.  Maybe after a day or two she would give in and take little Esmeralda home.

Esmeralda was so delicate.  It was nearly impossible to pick her up.  You couldn't just reach in under her arms like you could with a normal baby.  The cyst under her arm was angry and painful.  The hot compresses and anti-inflammatory weren't working.  We put her on antibiotics, but the results were poor.

At the time my friend and I were working one day a week in a little town south of us called Uruapan.  Dr. Campos worked with us there.  She was a wonderful doctor and withdrew fluid from the cyst and sent it to the lab for us.  When she came back the next week with the labs, she said we should see a surgeon.  She gave us the address of a Christian doctor who could help us.  We went the next day.  The doctor's office was in an area we had been to en Ensenada, but a little out of the way.  No one was there when we arrived, but we waited because we had come such a long way.  Eventually a tall man with glasses arrived.  He invited us into the exam room.  There he had us take Esmeralda's clothes off so he could examine her.  The glasses he wore were so this that it was hard to see his eyes.  Nimble fingers played over her underarm and by the time she was ready to cry, he had finished his exam.  "She needs surgery.  8:00 am tomorrow.  Do you know Ensenada?"

"A little," I replied.

"Go out 11th Street.  Passover the dip in the road and the riverbed.  When you come to the arroyo, make a left and continue up the arroyo.  Look to the left and you will see my office there.  If you get lost, ask someone where the doctor of the arroyo is."  An agreement was reached and we went home.

In the morning, I got into a borrowed car and headed into Ensenada.  Esmeralda was buckled into her baby seat in the back.  I drove until I reached 11th Street and made the right turn.  I traveled out on 11th, past the dip in the road, past the little river bed and then hit dirt road.  I mad a left and started up a hill.  Before long, I could see that I had made a wrong turn.  I turned the car around and headed back down, beginning to feel very lost and out of my element.

"Can you tell me where the doctor of the arroyo is?" I asked a woman walking beside the road.

"Go back to the main road and make a left, go all the way to the arroyo and make a left, driving down the arroyo.  His office is on the left on a hill."  I thanked her and headed on my way.

I found the arroyo without too much trouble once I was headed in the right direction.  Driving up the dry river bed, I searched on the left.  Finally I saw a sign painted on the side of a building.  It read simply, "Dr. Peralta" and was quite faded.  I parked the care and looked up to where the office was.  It was straight up the side of the hill.  Rocks were placed as stepping stones, but I was a little unsure as I trudged my way up.  In front of the office was a small pack of rather mangy looking dogs.  I prayed they wouldn't bite.  They didn't even get up as I approached and entered the door.

A pretty young nurse seemed to be expecting me and took me into an ancient exam room to take a history.  When she was ready we entered the "surgery" and got the baby ready.  I laid her on an antique wooden hospital bed to undress her.  The nurse helped.  As we took off her socks, I saw a black spot.  It was a flea!  I was embarrassed, but she smiled and pinched it off.

When Dr. Peralta entered, things happened quickly.  Syringes with anesthesia were prepared and injected and a scalpel sliced into Esmeralda's tender flesh.  His fingers moved like lightening over the cyst, seeking out each connection.  Before I even noticed that he was done, the stitches were in and he was placing a dressing on the wound.  He asked me to get her dressed and step out to see him.  As the nurse and I dressed Esmeralda, I saw another spot.  "Flea?" I asked. "Ant. We sometimes get visitors."

Back in the exam room, Dr. Peralta gave instructions for Esmeralda's care and medications.  He gave a prescription for an injected medicine and gave samples of the others.  Then came the time I had been dreading.  I had to ask how much money was owed.  I knew I would have to pay later, but needed to know how much.  Dr. Peralta smiled.  "There's no charge.  I work for the state.  They will pay me for my services.  God Bless You."

As I drove home, I had a tear in my eye and heart.  We would have paid whatever was asked to get this child out of pain.  But God knew that there was a doctor in the arroyo whose job it was to help us.