On January 6th, just hours before my partner Zach was supposed to go on a trip to Bolivar, I collapsed. There was no warning. I felt a cramp in my stomach, jumped out of bed, and rushed to the restroom. Suddenly, the pain intensified, and before I knew it, I was on the floor. There was a geyser of water splashing next to me, and Zach was screaming my name over and over.
When I looked around, I saw that the bathroom sink was destroyed—causing the water leak. But before I even asked Zach what had happened, a few wild theories crossed my mind. Maybe a plane had fallen from the sky, or a stray bullet had ripped through the house and hit me. It wouldn’t have surprised me. My neighborhood isn't exactly high-class.
It turns out I just lost consciousness... and took the sink with me. My first thought was that it might be my heart. Back in 2012, doctors had warned me about signs of cardiomyopathy, but I never went for a follow-up because that was the year I moved from New York to Argentina.
My next instinct was to call 911—but I wasn’t sure what the equivalent was in Argentina. So instead of scrambling with three-digit codes, I called a cab to take me to a hospital.
For future reference, in Argentina, you dial 107 for a municipal ambulance, which will take you to a public hospital for free. But I’ve heard they can take forever to arrive because of a lack of ambulances. So don’t expect a quick response like you would in the States.
I didn’t want to risk waiting at a public hospital, where even in the emergency room, they tend to take their sweet time. So, I went to a private hospital and had to wait about an hour and a half before being seen.
They did an EKG, which worried me, but the doctors assured me that I had a slight heart murmur and that my loss of consciousness wasn’t heart-related. Just to be sure, they had me go for an arterial blood test. They took the blood straight from my wrist—ouch! But the results showed everything was fine with my heart.
So what was wrong with me? The doctors concluded that I had suffered a syncope, which, in layman's terms, means I fainted. I know, not exactly a proud moment. But after talking with the doctors, they believed it might have been triggered by my irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and warned me it could happen again. Now, whenever I feel the slightest discomfort, I sit or lie down until it passes.
Zach did get to go to Bolivar with our friend, but he had to go a week later. He was nervous about leaving me alone, and I’ll admit, so was I. But now, a week has passed, and I’m okay. I did learn a lot about healthcare in Argentina, some of which scared me a bit. If you’re wondering about the cost, the EKG, blood tests, and consultation totaled about 10,000 Argentine Pesos (around $526 USD). I had to pay out of pocket because I went to a private hospital, but it was an emergency, so it was worth it.
Ironically, just two days before my collapse, a friend in Argentina passed away. She had been in a public hospital since December 24th, where doctors placed her in a medically induced coma to protect her brain function. Unfortunately, her condition deteriorated. On January 4th, 2018, she reached the point of what they call a “protocol” and was disconnected from life support, passing away at 7 a.m. that day.
This raised some concerns for me. I was informed that once the protocol is met, life support is turned off. That sounded horrible to me. I would want at least six months to a year before even considering something that extreme. When I tried visiting her, I was only allowed during visiting hours, and I was told that rule applied to everyone—including family—which seemed ridiculous.
So, I asked a doctor acquaintance about the protocol. I wanted to know: If a loved one is on life support, can doctors disconnect them even if the family refuses?
She explained that, like any protocol, there are exceptions. Doctors must always respect the patient's decision. If the patient is incapacitated, the decision falls to the spouse or closest family member. Even with the protocol in place, families can take legal action to prevent doctors from disconnecting their loved one if they believe there’s still a chance.
Regarding hospital visits, the spouse or family member always gets priority. However, problems can arise because most patients don’t have private rooms. So, if a patient is surrounded by other male patients, the wife can’t sleep in the room. Likewise, if a patient is female, the husband can’t stay overnight.
How is this different from the U.S.? When I visited a sick friend’s father in Orlando, Florida, I could walk into his room at 10 p.m. unannounced without any issues. The patient had a private room, and his wife was allowed to stay overnight. Likewise, when Zach’s grandfather recovered from open-heart surgery, his wife stayed with him overnight as well.
Anyway, 2018 started off a bit rough for me, but it also made me appreciate life more. I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately—some of it from being homesick, some from the increased crime rate in my neighborhood, the horrible neighbors who dump things outside my house, the culture shock, and the fact that I don’t leave my house nearly as often as I’d like. But mostly, it’s because I feel disconnected from friends and family back home. I’m lucky to have friends like Mel, who’s like family, but many people I meet online seem interested only in limited, superficial conversations through social media, and that’s it. So, naturally, I’ve been feeling a bit unwanted.
But you know what? Who cares? I’m alive, today is the official start of my vacation, and I’m going to enjoy it to the fullest!
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