Let me be honest: I am pretty spoiled. Being your mother's only daughter will do that to you.
My mom takes me on fun trips and we do exciting things together, "Gilmore Girls" style.
BUT (and there is always a but), do not hate me too much yet. More often than not my fortunate circumstances are characterized by highly unfortunate events, and when bad shit happens to me, it is go big or go home.
Take, for instance, the time I went to Nashville when I was 10 to spend Christmas with my dad. I wound up with strep throat and a double ear infection, which consequently led to me barfing all over my Aunt Debbie's car and her expensive throw pillow I had clutched for moral support.
Then there was that trip to Disney World in seventh grade. I had the time of my life traversing Epcot and the Animal Kingdom, but all that faith, trust and pixie dust had me hospitalized with a staph infection a mere two days after our return.
Next up we have my sophomore-year trip to Hawaii: I severely sprained my ankle during soccer tryouts the week before and was on crutches the entire time. No surfing lessons for me.
However, my most noticeable and gruesome of misfortunes befell me this past winter break when my mom and I took a last-minute trip to Cancun for a week. (Yes, a week alone with my parent. Don't worry, it was an all-inclusive bar. We all cope in our own ways, mine being double-fisting glasses of Dos Equis.)
The first signs of this trip's hardship surfaced on the plane ride to Mexico. After napping, I awoke to blurred vision in my left eye.
A quick swipe with a cocktail napkin revealed filmy, green gunk as the culprit of my foggy eyesight. But it was probably just some really disgusting sleep in my eye, right? Wrong.
As the day wore on and we arrived at Grand Esmeralda-our digs for the week-the gunk became a recurring problem. Just as the 55-year-old dude in a Speedo with a monster beer belly began to look more like one of the hot French guys I saw playing cards earlier, my mom would turn to me, and with a disgusted look point to my eye saying something along the lines of "ew."
By the time morning rolled around, my ocular orifices were down to one, being that after a restful night's sleep, my left eye had crusted itself closed. At this point it became pretty clear I had an eye infection and should probably do something about it.
Of all the godforsaken places in which to seek medical attention, Mexico sure as hell does not even make my top three.
Yet it was either put my trust in Grand Esmeralda's resident M.D. or walk around with a perpetual, oozing wink sure to creep out attractive waiters and small children alike.
Seriously, when you picture my eye, think of the guy from the basement in "The Goonies." All I had to do was ask for a Baby Ruth and we would practically be fraternal twins. So, naturally, it was to the physician or bust.
Being that I could only use one eye, my depth perception was highly off. I tightly gripped my mother's arm as we trekked to the main building.
Luckily, the doctor was in, and she had seen bacterial eye infections like mine before. For 35 USD she could even write me a prescription for eye drops! Frankly, I was ready to drop any sum of money to clear up my cream-puffed eye, so $35 seemed more than reasonable.
While we waited for the prescription to be delivered, my mom and I went to get breakfast. Keep in mind my eye looked like one of those pictures of STDs-gone-facial they show students in middle school health classes.
For this indoor situation I had two options: take my sunglasses off and look like I went for a quick romp with a waiter in a back room only to receive a shot of Chlamydia to the face, or wear my sunglasses inside just like a movie star who doesn't want to be recognized.
Obviously I chose option number two, though I am not a movie star, so I looked like a pretentious douchebag trying to be cool. It was the lesser of two evils.
But eventually the medicated drops arrived and worked their magic after about 24 hours of use, rendering me able to be where I should have been all along-poolside with a mojito in hand by 11 a.m.
But experiences like this can scar a girl. Just what diseases wait for me in other locations across the globe? The prospects are terrifying. However, I will continue to take my chances, because no matter what medical mysteries befall me, it makes for a killer story.
Did you come down with a case of the mumps the last time you were in Sweden? Toe fungus in the Caribbean? Tell Jaime about it at jbrackeen@wisc.edu.
