A couple mornings ago, I rose early to get a jump on the day. Figured I´d get some fishin time in during sunrise, the best part of the day here in Mazatlan. Got everything ready the night before, so as not to wake up my traveling companions. I picked up my trusty Scott 10wt and gear bag, then headed for the beach about two minutes away. Supporting one end of the rod on a soccer goal post hastily welded together in the sand, I gingerly laced fly line through the eyelets of the rod, slowly pulling the line from my (gorgeous) Nautilus reel, tied on a green and white Clouser minnow.
Stripping line from the reel and casting as I advanced through the surf, I bubbled with excitement as pelicans dove in the water around me for breakfast. Catching a glimpse of movement in the water to my left, I double hauled a cast off in that direction, and stripped in line like mad. Nothing. Nothing again.
I continued chasing shadows and tialfins in this manner for about 10 minutes. Just I was getting warmed up, I saw another fish jump out in front of me. I advanced on him too, slinging line like crazy, really having a good time fighting the waves as they crashed into me. As I was about to make my second cast, I had a sharp pain hit me like a brick wall at 50 miles per hour, and dropped my rod in the water. It felt like someone had jammed a surgical needle into my right foot!
I pulled myself together and picked up my quickly sinking rod. I glanced around to see if anyone had heard my girlish scream of terror. The fishermen waiting by their Pangas down the beach to my left were too far away, but to my embarrasment, I saw an American who had been leaning on the rail of the Malecon, watching me cast.
I tried to play through, but the pain was searing. I was only able to make one half-hearted cast before reeling in my line and high-tailing it for the safety of the beach.
I tried to talk with the guy, but my brain would just not function with the excruciating pain overtaking me. I think I muttered two incoherent ¨sentences¨ before hoofing it back to the hotel. I immediately woke up Jason and Michelle, who I had met on the roadside south of Juncalito, and were also traveling on a Kawasaki KLR. Jason has been a registered nurse as well as EMT, and been on recue missions in Pakistan after the major earthquake there. I ¨dropped trow¨ right there in the passageway by the stairs outside the hotel room, and he gave me a shot of Demerol. I tried to lay down and elevate my already hemmoraging football of a foot, but nomatter how hard I concentrated, I could not make the pain go away long enough to hold still!
Carlos, the manager at Hotel Lerma, rushed me to the emergency room, where I was quickly admitted. The doc asked a few quick questions aboout alergies, and went to work. Jason assisted as various nurse trainees looked on.
Once the local anisthetic kicked in I was somewhat coherant again. In about 15 minutes, I had the toxin drained fom my foot and was feeling 100% better. We went to take care of postop paperwork, and I started getting dizzy. I grabbed the nearest chair for about 5 seconds, then felt waves of nausea wash over me. I looked around the room and managed to squeek out Necesito vomitar! in broken Spanish. I needed a sink! After dry heaving for 5 minutes, I felt better again, but the local was wearing off quickly, and the drug cocktails had made me really sleepy and dizzy.
I lied down again while Michelle went to the farmacy to replace the medical supplies they had used in the ER. It was a free clinic with suggested donation, so we paid $20, replaced the medicines, and were on our way with only $30 out of my pocket, with the prescribed drugs I needed as well.
Between spells of sleep and wimpering, I spent the rest of the day in bed.
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