moving to mexico -- drugs

Traveling always makes me appreciate the virtues of Mexico.

That was certainly true on one of my trips north to help my mother this past year.

I try to travel light. Having spent years of toting around over-packed suitcases that contained far more than I ever used on trips, I have become an under-packer. I try to pack only what I know I will absolutely need, and then I return about 10% to the closet knowing what remains will do.

That method almost always works. Almost. On one of the first trips north, I had planned on staying for one week. Necessity turned it into a three-week stay.

My packing plan did not limit me. Because I was staying at my brother's house, clothes were not a problem. I could launder them. And, if I needed anything new, I could buy it at a local store. Groceries and gasoline for the additional weeks were on offer. It was as if I had been dropped into the center of an Adam Smith hypothetical.

The only problem was drugs. Or, more accurately, medications -- just in case you took a wrong turn at that nounal fork in the road. I had only brought along enough medication for one week. 

That turned out to not be a problem -- in the main. Four of the medications I take nightly are on the shelf in all pharmacies -- and most grocery stores -- in Oregon. And I was able to fill in most of my controlled substances from other sources.

But I was still short of one important medication -- bezafibrate, to control a decades-long battle with high triglycerides. Missing two weeks of tablets would most likely not cause major problems, but I thought I would try to buy some at the local Prineville pharmacy.

So, I did what I do here in Barra de Navidad. I grabbed the empty box and sidled up to the "drop off prescriptions" window at the pharmacy.

I showed the clerk the box. She pushed it back and asked me for my name and telephone number. I told her she would not find me in her computer; I just needed a box of the bezafibrate.

I knew what was coming next. She asked me for my prescription.

I told her I had one from twelve years ago from Dra. Rosa, but I had no idea where it was now. What I received in return was that fixed stare that professionals use when trying to determine if a call to the police is in order -- or if a call to Bedlam would suffice.

Knowing the ball was now in my police court, I told her my situation. I live in Mexico. Twelve years ago my doctor prescribed bezafibrate. I have been taking it ever since. When I run out, I simply walk to my local pharmacy with the empty box and buy another -- or four.

Her stare shifted from potential arrest to pity. Pity that I was so delusional that I thought I could purchase a next-to-harmless medication without a current prescription.

Now, I know there are justifications for the requirements imposed on the distribution of pharmaceuticals in the countries north of the Rio Bravo, as Joe Stewart, my high school friend turned pharmacist, would tell us. And I am not going to argue with that. At least, not in this essay.

But, we all must concede that the distribution of Mexican medications treats consumers as if they were adults. Most medications are readily available at a Mexican pharmacy simply by requesting it. There are two big exceptions. Antibiotics and opiates. A prescription is necessary for either, and only a few doctors can write prescriptions for opiates.

It turned out that I managed to survive my two-week fast of bezafibrate. I suspect I could stop taking all of my medications and still live as long as I would with them. I tend to be rather agnostic about such things.

Having said that, I will be taking a walk later today to my favorite pharmacy in Barra de Navidad to buy a new supply of bezafibrate. And I will not have to explain myself to accommodate a bureaucratic system that simply does not try to control my life here.

It is a small thing. But chalk up another advantage of living in Mexico.