Getting Sick in Spain

Being sick, obviously, is never fun. Being sick when you're outside of your comfort zone is a double whammy. But Spain finds another way to kick you when you're down.

You see, in Spain, when you're sick, you have to go to a farmacia, a pharmacy. OK, you say, this sounds normal. That's what most people do when they're sick, head on down to Wal-greens and pick your remedy.

Not so in sunny España. The first time I went to a pharmacy in Spain, I was confused. It was full of weird anti-aging creme and baby formula. No trace of ibuprofen, cold medicine, or even tissues. Then someone informed me that you have to ask the pharmacist for what you want. Even for something as simple as aspirin. You tell them what's wrong, and they give you your meds and tell you how to take them.

This poses a couple problems (for me, at least):

1. Like I have stated in a previous post, I can speak Spanish, but still have my moments when I feel like no one understands what I'm saying. When I'm sick, I don't really have the motivation to leave my house and describe my symptoms, in Spanish (which usually involves me pointing to whichever body part is ailing me, because my medical vocabulary is not stellar, let me assure you) to the pharmacist.

2. When I'm sick, I'm obviously not feeling good, which usually means I'm not looking my best. Now, I don't know if you read my homegirl Kaley's advice on how to dress like a Spaniard, but I'll just say that my ratty sweatpants and UWEC sweatshirt get me a lot of dirty looks on the mercifully short walk to the pharmacy. The dripping snot doesn't help either.

3. The pharmacists at the nearest pharmacy to my piso are two young, relatively good looking guys. Imagine this scene, if you will: Maybe I'm asking for something for my killer cramps. Or I'm looking like a hot mess with my sinus infection and hacking cough, trying to remember if "I have a cold" really is "estoy constipada". Or perhaps I'm looking like a chimpanzee, rubbing my stomach or patting my head, trying to explain where exactly my migraine is. A really pretty picture, let me tell you.

So Spain, my plea to you is this: Grant me some dignity in my moments of illness. I just want to scan my local Wal-greens for the perfect remedy in peace.

Originally published 4.2.11