TRAVEL MEDICINE
An Unwanted Odyssey Exploring Mexico’s Microorganisms
A tale from the tropics
People pay big bucks for high-end detox retreats. Twenty years ago, I went to Ko Samui, Thailand for a 5-day anti-parasite juice cleanse which included coffee enemas, fiber drinks, and abdomen massages.
In the juice lounge where we congregated, there were inspiring images of people who’d improved their health through cleanses of various durations.
Such shining eyes, glossy hair, and flat bellies!
Dissected images of colons featured heavily. When you eat late at night, we learned, bits of undigested foods accumulate, clogging the colon.
I thought of the many late-night food binges that were standard after a bender. Undoubtedly, my colon must be crusted with putrified burgers, I thought.
There were also posters with images, descriptions, and lengthy Latin names showcasing the many types of parasites.
Long or short; robust or slender; colored or translucent — parasites became our common enemy. After our coffee enemas, we were encouraged to inspect our waste and identify the vermin that inhabited us.
My retreat did not prepare me for the real deal
Knowledge is power, they say, but nothing could prepare me for how a parasite infection would FEEL.
The infection took place in Mexico, 20 years after the cleanse.
A friend was over for dinner, and I was upset about the declining health of my senior chihuahua following a recent vet visit. Though I’m not much of a crier, I burst into tears, imagining the worst for my 15.5-year-old canine and the eventual demise of his younger brother.
We were about to eat, but my stomach felt off. I chalked it up to my emotional breakdown, but the sensations did not align with anxiety, worry, or sadness.
I barely ate.
At 3 am, I was awake, with the roiling guts characteristic of diarrhea.
I won’t get into the gory details, but the next days were plagued by sore stomach, tender intestines, and heartburn running from throat to mid-ribs.
When the vet sent me my dog’s labs, she explained the various markers that were off.
One marker, she mentioned, was indicative of a parasite infection. She inquired when the pooches had last been de-wormed.
Take me down to the parasite city
The more I thought about deworming the dogs, the more I wondered about my intestinal discomfort. The sensations were unlike anything I’d had before: bloating, gas, diarrhea, and an ITCH.
Could I have parasites?
I needed to know.
I’ve been in Mexico for less than a month, so I wasn’t sure what to do. On a walk, I stumbled upon a medical laboratory.
I went inside, and luckily one of the employees spoke English.
A few days earlier, my friend had tipped me off that if you knew what tests you wanted, you could order your labs and then schedule a follow-up with a doctor. That way you’d only pay for one visit, instead of two!
The lab tech sold me a kit for twenty dollars and away I went.
The specimen did not take long to produce, so I had the kit back at the clinic within a few hours.
All those parasites! How could we ask for more?
By 11 am the next day, I had the results.
I knew there would be a baseline for comparison, and that I’d be able to tell if anything was off.
Under the parasite category, there was indeed a flag, but I could not make sense of the Spanish explanation at the end of the report. Even with Google Translate, I was unsure of my prognosis.
It was a Saturday morning; my stomach hurt; it was pouring rain, and I had no doctor. I checked on Google Maps for a nearby clinic, but none listed their business hours.
Furtively, and since I had her on WhatsApp, I messaged the vet.
Yes, the vet.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I did a parasite test, but I cannot interpret the results. Is there any chance you could take a quick look and tell me if there’s something wrong?”
“Sure! Send it over,” she exclaimed.
Five minutes later, she replied:
“Yes, you have a parasite, but I am not familiar with this type. You need to see a human doctor.”
Well, shit.
Now what?
Though I have lots of professionals in my circle, I don’t have a single doctor on my rolodex.
I had however seen an OB-GYN the year before.
I messaged her, and she messaged me back, offering to help.
Within a few minutes, she verified that yes, I had a parasite.
Then she was non-responsive.
Silent.
Offline.
Already on edge, I waited an hour before messaging her back: “Is there a medication I should take? What do you recommend?”
She provided the name of a medication and assured me that it was findable at any pharmacy.
Off I went.
Sheepishly, I showed the pharmacist the medication name that the OB-GYN had recommended.
She smiled, putting me at ease.
Though you can buy almost any medication without a prescription, the parasite medications are all over-the-counter.
Tucked beside the Tums and Advil, there were abundant options.
It was clear that parasites are a common occurrence here in Mexico.
The pharmacist explained that most Mexicans deworm themselves every six months.
My mind was fucking blown.
It had never occurred to me, that like my pets, I’d need to de-worm myself now that I live in the tropics.
It’s a not-so-fun, fun fact.
Wrap up
I started the medication a few days ago and am meeting with a doctor tomorrow.
Psychologically, I try not to get carried away with the images that play out in my mind, undoubtedly inspired by the parasite cleanse I did in Thailand all those years ago.
What I can say is that a parasite infection feels unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
I surely hope the meds work. I want those critters killed.
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you have any fun parasite stories to share.