El Médico Feliz

This morning I had one of those moments where I swiftly and irrevocably fell in love with Mexico all over again.

Armed with newly acquired (read: “googled”) anatomical and medical vocabulary, I took myself off to what I like to call the Street Doctor. I’ve visited him before, and he is truly delightful. I'm not sure who pays him - it may be government provided, or affiliated with a pharmacy, but he's certainly not paid by his patients. So, if you're willing to line up in the street for an indeterminate period of time, you can score yourself a free consultation with the lovely Médico. I'm an unemployed backpacker, so obviously never too proud to sit in the street with Mums and babies and wait my free turn. 

This morning I only had to wait about an hour, giving me enough time to read the news and enjoy the oddities of the Mexican street where of course there is never a dull moment, and this morning the constant soundtrack was a combination of a Glee episode and 10-years-out-of-date pop songs; pretty standard fare for Mexico, and I assumed blasting from the various shops nearby.

Eventually I had my turn and the lovely Médico patiently listened as I explained my predicament in broken Spanish, before thoroughly prodding at my knee. And as he wrote his notes on my basic details - my name, DOB, and yes-apparently-it-is-possible-to-have-arthritis-at-28 - he began to sing. Along. With the Britney Spears that had been playing from his computer the whole time. Putting aside my amusement at the guy who was - i hoped - about to prescribe me heavy duty pharmaceuticals singing "Toxic" there was just something so endearingly lighthearted about this rather serious chap singing along with the quite incredibly high-pitched chorus as he worked.

The adorable earnestness went, however, to a new level when the next song shuffled onto his playlist. The Glee cast's cover of Bruno Mars' "Marry You" prompted not only a burst of serenading me (in English!) (now you tell me?! If I'd known that I wouldn't have struggled through "hay mucha hinchazón en mi rodilla, no puedo flexionarse"!!) but also an impromptu dance around the tiny clinic. 

I couldn't help but comment to him that he was one happy little doctor. His response: "it's the only way to be." And after having written my prescription (incorrectly)(twice)(I guess that's what happens when you're multi-tasking) and passed it over, my happy little Médico promptly told me I had beautiful eyes, and sent me on my merry way.

It may be hypocritical after my recent rant on my treatment in the streets in Mexico, but actually this was so heart-warming that I couldn't help but smile at it. I just think there's something to be said for the contagious, earnest joy of an all-singing, all-dancing Médico.